A Time To Dance
by BeckyH
Summary: Sully is presumed dead and Michaela goes into mourning, only to find out he has left her pregnant. When a stagecoach accident brings about an unexpected friendship with Cal the driver, Michaela finds that feelings for Cal unexpectedly blossom.
1. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Cal tapped the end of his pen on his chin. He needed some inspiration. He glanced out the window. Stars, a moon, softly blowing trees. A tree! He carefully drew a crude willow tree in the corner of the first piece of paper. There, that looked like stationary. Well, sort of. He thought longer, then wrote gingerly but steadily in his best handwriting. Michaela would likely beat him over the head for this, but he was doing it for her own good. Yes, what Michaela needed was a little push.

"Sewing circle meetin', today, Saturday. Three o'clock at Michaela's. Lemonade and cookies will be served." Dorothy rubbed her forehead. "I just can't believe it, Grace. Michaela hasn't been to our meetin's in over a year, let alone hosted one herself."

Grace reread her invitation, one hand stirring tomato soup heating on the stove. "Well, maybe she's finally coming 'round," she suggested. "Be good for her, seein' us all again." She chuckled. "Hearin' a little gossip!"

Ethel Bloom approached her friends. "Ladies!" She waved her invitation. "Did you find this with your mail this morning?"

"We all got 'em," Grace assured her, adding a sprinkle of salt to the soup.

"I can't believe it," Mrs. Bloom said, shaking her head.

"None of us can," Dorothy spoke up. "But one thing's for sure: I'll be there."

"Me, too," Mrs. Bloom agreed.

"So will I," Grace affirmed.

Cal opened each drawer of Byron's bureau. No sign of anything that might remotely be a diaper. Brian had taught the stagecoach driver how to diaper the baby just half an hour before, and then at Cal's prompt had gone to play baseball in town with some schoolboys. "I swore he said top drawer," Cal muttered to himself, looking through the bureau again. Katie stood beside him, thumb in her mouth. "Do you know where the diapers are?" he asked, turning to her.

She gazed up at him shyly, not answering.

Cal turned back to the baby on the changing table who was happily naked from the waist down. "Now what, Squirt? Oh, and don't you dare think about doing just that."

Byron giggled and kicked his legs, amused by the man's predicament.

Cal picked him up, holding him at arms length less an accident occurred. "When all else fails, see Mama, right?"

He hastened down the hall with the baby, Katie at his heels. "Michaela!" he called through the cracked-open door. Cal had another dilemma on his mind: how to get Michaela to wear a dress for the sewing circle meeting, instead of her usual nightgown.

"I'm bathing, Cal," she called from behind the blinds Brian had set up for her.

"Where do you keep Byron's diapers?" he replied. Katie pushed the door open and walked in.

"In the top drawer of his bureau," she replied. She wrung out her sponge. "Don't get wet, Katie," she warned the child, who had placed herself quietly at the foot of the tub and stuck her hands in the warm water.

Cal peeked one eye into the room. "I searched the whole bureau. No diapers."

"Then I'll have to do some laundry," she sighed, the thought itself exhausting.

"I can do it," Cal offered. "I know how. We take turns at work."

Byron let out an experimental moan, but before he had a chance to cry Cal swung him into the air a few times, producing a fit of giggles from the infant.

"...If you're sure," she reluctantly agreed. "But for now look in my medical bag on the nightstand. There's a cloth in there you can use until his diapers have dried." She leaned forward in the tub and tapped Katie's nose with a wet finger. "Run along with Mr. Brooks and keep an eye on him for me while I finish here, all right, sweetheart?"

Cal retrieved the cloth, then eyed Michaela's nightgown, laid out on the bed. He snatched it up quickly, then stole out of the room, Katie following close behind.

Michaela rose from the tub, wrapping a towel around her. The bath had felt wonderful. She might have soaked all day if the water hadn't grown too cold to sit in any longer. She couldn't decide what she preferred more, snoozing in a warm tub or lying under the soft covers of her bed. She shut her eyes. Their bed, Sully's handcrafted wedding gift for his bride. As much as she felt like sleeping again, she decided she would get out of the room, go downstairs, check on the baby, and see how Cal was coming with the diaper cloths. Help him, perhaps. After all, it was her family's laundry, not his.

Her nightgown was missing. She glanced around, holding the towel around her with one hand. She clearly remembered unbuttoning the top button, slipping the nightgown over her head and placing it on the bed until after her bath. She shrugged her shoulders and opened the wardrobe. Might as well put on a dress if she were going to go outside, in the event company should call.

Michaela opened the front door to the giggling of her daughter and son, and Cal, scrubbing on the washboard while whistling a tune.

Katie was chasing in and out of the hanging laundry while Byron crawled about nearby, stopping every so often to examine a bug, a pebble or a blade of grass.

Cal looked up, scrubbing hard at a little nightshift of the baby's. Michaela was in her mourning garb, her hair pinned up in a loose bun, hands clasped in front of her. She was even thinner than she appeared in a nightgown, Cal noticed, aside from a slight swelling at her waistline, evidence of the birth weight the pregnancy had left behind and the exercise she had not gotten to rid herself of it.

"You must be hot, all in black," Cal remarked, squinting up briefly toward the blazing sun.

"I'm not," she lied, crossing her arms.

"I found the washboard and soap and a laundry basket just fine," he told her.

"I started to think about you doing the laundry all by yourself and I grew anxious," she admitted with a shy smile. "But everything seems..."

"Under control?" Cal supplied, pinning up the shift as Katie continued to race in and out of the blowing white sheets.

Michaela's mouth dropped open and she sped toward the line. "My nightgown! Here it is!" She fingered the damp garment. "I couldn't imagine where it had gone. It wasn't on the bed where I was certain I left it." She laughed. "I was afraid I had lost my mind." She trailed off, clasping her hands again.

Cal crossed his fingers behind his back. "Yeah...I uh, I figured it was dirty. Besides, you don't need it until bedtime tonight."

"Actually, I was planning on going back to bed," she told him a little testily. Her expression softened. "But thank you for the thought."

"Stay up today," he suggested. "I'm going to bake cookies with the kids."

"You know how to bake cookies?" she asked, surprised. She didn't know of many men who did.

He chuckled. "No. I was hoping you would."

She smiled. "Yes, but I'm afraid my culinary skills can't compare to Grace's."

"I hear she's the best cook this side of the Mississippi," Cal said, dipping a cloth into the laundry tub.

"I won't argue with that," Michaela agreed.

Cal was struck by an idea. It was the perfect excuse to get Michaela out of the house. "Maybe we could have dinner there sometime," he suggested. "All of us. The baby, too." He scrubbed the cloth vigorously against the washboard.

Michaela took a step back. "I...I don't know."

"I'm itching to try her fried chicken. How about tonight?" He twisted the cloth, wringing it out over the washtub, then turned to the line.

"Why don't you take the children, Cal? Katie loves Grace's mashed potatoes."

"But dey'll be dissapoint-thed if you don't come, too," he pointed out, two clothespins in his mouth.

"No they won't. They don't need me." She spoke not in a tone of self-pity, but rather one of certainty.

Cal finished pinning the cloth, turned back to Michaela and wiped his damp hands on his trousers. "Of course they do. You're their mother."

She shook her head. "Brian's perfectly capable of caring for the children, and others help as well. Things run smoothly without my presence. I could remain upstairs for days without being seen--if I wanted to--and life would go on without event."

"Do you want to?" he challenged.

She bent her head. "Sometimes."

He scratched the back of his head. "Ever think maybe Brian should be with boys his own age? Girls too, maybe?"

She was taken by surprise. "What do you mean by that?"

Cal shrugged. "I ain't trying to judge, I'm just saying it seems strange that a schoolboy should so often be responsible for an infant and a two-year-old. Seems to me he'd want to be somewhere else."

"Brian likes caring for the younger children," she told him defensively. At least he acted as if he enjoyed it.

"That may be, but it don't make it right," Cal said calmly.

She turned her back to him. "He's never given me any reason to believe he's unhappy."

"I got a hunch he wouldn't tell ya even if he was."

"Katie!" Michaela called. "Come here!"

"I'm playin'!" the little girl called from somewhere among the damp laundry.

"Please, come here now," Michaela said firmly, and seconds later the toddler appeared and tugged on her mother's skirts, out of breath.

"Come to the kitchen with Mama and we'll bake cookies," Michaela told her, taking her hand.

Cal picked up Byron, sighing, and followed mother and daughter inside.

Just as Cal pulled the last tray of molasses cookies from the oven, a knock was heard at the door. Michaela went to answer it, Katie tagging along beside her.

"Afternoon, Michaela," Dorothy greeted her. "Afternoon, Miss Katie."

"Afternoon," said Grace.

"Afer-noo'," Katie giggled.

Michaela was bewildered. "Dorothy, Grace...what are you...doing here?"

The two ladies looked at each other with raised eyebrows, each with a sewing basket tucked under their arm. "Isn't it two o'clock?" Dorothy asked, reaching into her basket in search of her invitation.

"Yes...but-" Michaela stammered.

"Here it is." Dorothy gave her the invitation. "We all got these. Don't you remember sending them?"

Michaela skimmed the invitation in disbelief. "I didn't write this. I don't know a thing about this."

Dorothy and Grace chuckled uncomfortably. Should they stay, leave? They didn't know what to do.

Cal cleared his throat from the kitchen. "Well, as long as they're all coming, Michaela, why not have the meeting?"

She turned to him. "You. Cal, you did this, didn't you?"

"I..." he murmured.

Michaela forced a smile for her friends. "Excuse me one moment." She marched straight to Cal, looking him in the eye angrily. "How could you?" she whispered. "Is this your idea of a joke?"

"I...thought it might be fun," he whispered back.

"Fun, hm? You've thoroughly embarrassed me and put us all in an awkward position. Having fun yet?"

He touched her shoulder. "I don't know why you're so upset. I thought you'd be happy, seeing all your friends again."

"Perhaps I didn't make things clear. I don't participate in the sewing circle, let alone host meetings. I prefer peaceful, quiet afternoons here at the homestead, alone. What am I supposed to do now?"

Cal shrugged. "I got the solution."

She raised her eyebrows. "You do?"

"Hold the meeting," he said simply.

"Cal, must I repeat everything I've just said?"

"Look, if you hold the meeting, you won't have to send anybody home, and you just might enjoy it. I'll watch over Katie and Byron. I could take 'em to Bray's Mercantile and do the shopping for the week. We'll have fun, your friends will have fun, everybody's happy."

"Yes, except me." She crossed her arms. "Well, I certainly can't turn them away now. That would be rude."

"Yeah, that'd be rude," he agreed.

She sighed. "I'll have to introduce you." She took his hand. "Come with me."

When Michaela returned to the doorway, three more ladies were waiting on the porch. "Everyone," she began, "this is Cal Brooks." She hesitated. "A good friend of mine." She nodded to each woman in turn. "This is Dorothy and Grace, Ethel, Marisa and Margaret."

Cal smiled. "Hey."

Dorothy shook his hand. "An honor, Mr. Brooks."

Once Cal had departed for town with the children, Michaela seated everyone around the table.

"He's handsome, Michaela," Dorothy began, laying the quilt they were working on across the table. "You didn't mention that when I interviewed you for the Gazette."

"It was a wonderful article, Dorothy," Marisa murmured. "A stagecoach accident, only two survivors, a romantic rescue. Straight out of a dime novel."

"Cal's stubborn, he talks too much, he can't be serious, and he likes to play cruel jokes," Michaela informed them. "Hardly out of a dime novel."

"I think writin' all those invitations for us was a real fine thing to do," Grace spoke up. "I wouldn't call it a joke."

Michaela frowned. "I don't want any of you to feel I don't want you here. It just came as a surprise, that's all."

"A pleasant surprise," Dorothy told her, threading her needle. "We'll have to catch you up on all the news."

Ethel leaned forward in her chair. "Then first off ya oughta hear this: I heard from Rachel who heard from Isabelle--or was it Anne?--anyway, who heard it first hand from Maggie O'Neill that...or was it her sister? I can't remember..."

Michaela chuckled under her breath. She had certainly missed the gossip, there was no doubt about that.

to be continued...what do you think? please leave me reviews


	2. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

"How was the sewing circle meeting?" Cal asked, placing the tomatoes he had bought in a small basket on the counter.

Michaela's face brightened. "It was..." She wasn't about to let Cal know how much she had enjoyed being with her friends again. "Fine, I suppose."

Cal chuckled. Michaela sure was stubborn.

"How was shopping?" she queried. "Katie was on her best behavior I hope."

"Oh, she was fine. Your kids weren't the problem."

"Oh? There was a problem?"

Cal put his hands on his hips. "Yeah. An Injun walked into the mercantile, came straight up to Katie and picked her up, mumbling some sorta gibberish. I knew you would just have a fit, so I pulled out my jack knife. He put her down damn quick."

"Cal, I don't care for that sort of vulgar language," she scolded.

He lowered his head. "Sorry."

"And we say Indian in this house, not 'Injun'," she went on.

"Indian, Injun, what's the difference? No matter what ya call 'em, I'll never be able to stand their filthy hands on little girls. And then after that--can you believe it?--he walks straight up to Mr. Bray and asks where Dorothy is! Probably fixing to have some fiery hair on his belt."

Michaela crossed her arms angrily. "That was Cloud Dancing. He's Katie's Cheyenne father."

"Cheyenne father? What kinda foolishness is that?"

Michaela grew angrier. "Cloud Dancing has always been one of our most trusted friends. He took Sully in and looked after him for several years."

"Brian told me how Sully died. Seems to me if it weren't for the Indians, your husband would still be here."

She glared at him sharply. "Don't you ever say that again."

Cal felt regretful. "Michaela...I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. It's just, driving the stagecoach, I'm always having to keep a lookout for 'em. We've had our horses stolen a few times. My first month on the job, a whole mess of 'em scalped all our passengers. Harry and I just managed to get away."

Michaela's expression softened. "I'm not trying to justify what they did, but they steal animals because they're starving. They attack stagecoaches because the road they travel on cuts across their land. Passengers inside settle on their land."

Cal rubbed his chin. "Their land? The government gave them land, putting 'em on reservations ages ago. We don't bother them, they shouldn't bother us."

"Have you ever been to a reservation, Cal?" she asked.

He shook his head. "No, and I don't care to."

"I have a proposition for you," she spoke. "You come with me to the Reservation tomorrow, and I and the children will have supper with you later at the café."

He sighed. "Can I have fried chicken?"

"You may have whatever you'd like," she told him.

He considered for a moment, then shook her hand. "Deal."

"I'd like to speak with a friend," Michaela said firmly, putting on the brake of the wagon.

"Nice to see ya again, doctor," replied one of the two soldiers guarding the entrance. He spit a wad of tobacco over his left shoulder.

"I'm sorry I can't say the same," Michaela retorted. "I'd like to speak with Cloud Dancing." She noticed the change in their expressions, from pleasure at seeing a pretty woman, to mild irritation.

"Who's your beau?" the taller soldier asked, eyeing Cal with Katie in his lap.

"He is not my beau," Michaela answered, "and if you want to know who he is you can ask him yourself."

The soldier's partner peered into the wagon at the whimpering baby, bundled securely in a basket at his mother's feet. "Aw hell, who cares? Let 'em go, Carl."

"Just a minute. I wanna know who he is," the other whined.

Michaela cleared her throat. "I'd be terribly disappointed if I had to turn straight around after such a long drive. So would my little girl. You wouldn't want to disappoint two ladies, would you gentlemen?"

The shorter of the two soldiers gazed at her with longing. "Sure ma'am...I mean, you can see the Injun..."

"Go right ahead," the other added, removing his hat and running a hand through his thick black hair.

The soldiers fought quietly over who was going to help her down, and before they could agree, Michaela had made it to the ground on her own and was lifting Byron from his bedding.

Cal jumped down with Katie in one arm.

"Again!" the toddler begged, giggling.

Cal bounced her on his hip. "You sure know how to get your way, Mike."

Michaela shrugged. "When it's necessary." She placed the baby over her shoulder and pointed at the shacks. "See those? Entire families live in them. They're hot in the summer and freezing in the winter. Teepees have holes at the top to let out smoke from a fire. Only a few families have been allowed to remain in their traditional homes."

"Holes for the smoke. That's smart," Cal admitted.

She nodded, agreeing. "There's not even so much as a camp fire inside their homes now."

"How do they survive?"

She swallowed. "Many don't."

A cluster of women approached Michaela, talking excitedly amongst one another of the lady doctor who was so kind to them, and of her husband whose passing had affected them all.

One had a half-empty bottle of tonic in hand. "Take...take," she bid Michaela, thrusting it in her direction.

"Oh, Morning Dove...is your son's cough any better?" Michaela asked.

She nodded happily. "Good. Good. Many thanks for medicine. Many thanks."

Michaela smiled. "Glad to hear that. Why don't you keep the tonic...in case he comes down with something again."

"They speak English," Cal remarked.

"Most of them do," Michaela replied, "but not many whites bother to learn their languages."

Morning Dove eyed the medicine hesitantly. She tilted it back and forth, watching the dark syrup swish around. "I take," she said quietly. She looked up at the doctor. "I take," she announced. "Nyow-ish. Nyow-ish." She turned to a friend and spoke in rapid Cheyenne, eyes bright. Michaela was pleased when she detected the word for 'medicine woman' spoken several times.

"She says she is grateful," Michaela translated for Cal. "Hah-ho," Michaela told the woman.

"You speak that nonsense?" Cal asked, surprised.

"Only a few words, but Sully could speak and understand Cheyenne perfectly."

Morning Dove's friend, a young woman Michaela recognized though she did not know her name, put a hand on Katie's back. "You will see Cloud Dancing?"

Michaela nodded. "Yes."

The girl cast her eyes at a teepee. "There. We will look after baby?"

Michaela noticed for the first time an infant strapped in a bearskin to her back. "Oh, is this your baby?" she asked excitedly. She had forgotten the girl was with child the last time she had visited.

The girl nodded with pride. "A brave."

Michaela smiled. "Mine, too." She pulled back the blanket to reveal her sleeping little boy. "I call him Byron."

The girl smiled, touching his cheek. "By-ron." She nodded behind her. "My brave will be named when he has grown."

Michaela nodded. "Cheyenne don't name their children right away like we do," she explained for Cal. "By the time it's four or five its family has decided on a name for it. Usually after an uncle or grandfather."

Cal scratched his head. What a strange way of doing things.

Michaela tickled the girl's infant. "He looks strong...how old is he?"

"He has been here six moons. He's a good baby," she said assuredly. "Very, very good."

"That's good to hear," Michaela replied.

"We take?" Morning Dove persisted, putting two hands around Katie's torso.

Michaela kissed Katie's head. "Yes, I'd appreciate that. Thank you. Be good for mama's friends, sweetheart," she instructed the droopy-eyed child.

Michaela trusted the women completely as Cal unwillingly handed Katie over to their able hands. They were always such a help when she visited the reservation. The women were grateful to the doctor for her visits to their homes, never asking for anything in return, and so looking after the 'little medicine woman', as they called her in Cheyenne, was the least they could do.

Michaela and Cal watched Morning Dove and her friends carry Katie to a teepee, followed by at least four other women eager to offer advice on the child's care.

"You're just gonna let them take her in there, all alone?" Cal questioned.

"She's with several mothers who no doubt have more experience than I do," Michaela said, setting out for Cloud Dancing's teepee.

"Wait 'til I write Momma about this," Cal mused aloud. "Mrs. Sully hires Indians to baby-sit her kid!" He thought a moment. "All those women were so skinny, Michaela," he whispered. "That baby is about as old as Byron, but only half his size."

"I know," she replied.

Cloud Dancing heard the two approaching, and pulled back the flap, sticking his head out.

"Dr. Mike!" he exclaimed. He hurried out and came to her, clasping her arms. "It is good to see you, my friend."

She gave him a hug, mindful of the baby. "And you, Cloud Dancing."

Cloud Dancing put his hand atop the baby's head. "Byron is looking strong." He touched Michaela's shoulder, noting her black dress. "You wear the color of sorrow."

"I continue to mourn," Michaela admitted softly.

He eyed Cal. "The one with the knife," he announced, eyes narrowed.

Michaela took Cal's hand and brought him closer. "This is Cal Brooks, Cloud Dancing." She pulled Cal's shoulder down. "Shake his hand," she instructed in a whisper.

Awkwardly, the men shook.

"Now apologize," Michaela went on.

Cal raised his eyebrows. "For what?"

"You know what," she retorted.

He sighed. "I didn't mean to pull a knife on you, Cloud..."

"Dancing," Michaela reminded him.

"Yeah, whatever. I didn't know you were a friend of Michaela's," Cal finished. "Sorry," he added.

"Come inside, Cal Brooks," Cloud Dancing bid, pulling back the flap of his teepee.

"I hope we're not disturbing you," Michaela said, suddenly hesitant.

Cloud Dancing chuckled. "No...do you know what I was doing? Napping!" His eyes squinted with laughter. "It is time for this old man to wake up!"

She laughed softly as Cloud Dancing invited them to sit on an elk skin beside a small fire. It smelled cozy inside, of hickory bark and well-tended-to animal hides. It was a pleasant aroma that could make her drowsy if she allowed it.

Cloud Dancing sat cross-legged opposite his visitors. Cal was gazing up at the hole at the top of the teepee. "A real live teepee," he murmured. "Never thought I'd be in one of these."

Cloud Dancing lit his pipe and took a smoke then handed it to Cal.

Michaela elbowed him.

"What?" Cal murmured, annoyed.

"Smoke it," she instructed. "He's making peace with you."

Reluctantly, Cal puffed a few times on the pipe, then stared at it, surprised. "It's good," he mumbled.

"Of course," Cloud Dancing shot back, eyes sparkling. He searched Michaela's eyes. "You have come because you long for Sully."

Michaela rubbed Byron's back as he cooed. "I miss him, yes, but that's not why I've come. I wanted to ask if you would tell Cal about the Cheyenne."

"It is a tale that would take many days to tell," Cloud Dancing replied.

"Great," Cal muttered under his breath.

"Mr. Brooks doesn't know very much about you or your people," Michaela said, "so if you could just start by telling him a little of everything: your way of life, how you came to be here, the army, being a medicine man..."

"Washita?" Cloud Dancing questioned solemnly.

"Yes, please," Michaela whispered.

"Then before I begin, I will give Cal Brooks a gift." Cloud Dancing removed the medicine bag about his neck and held it over the fire. "Michaela has told me what you did when the stagecoach killed everyone but her."

Cal waved his hand. "No, it wasn't anything."

"Pride can be a foolish feeling and I am glad you do not possess it. You protected the life of my friend then brought my brother's son into the world. For this, you have earned a medicine pouch, with many thanks from me...and from Sully."

Cal sat silently as Cloud Dancing placed it over his head. "Thank you," he murmured in awe. He fingered the pouch, admiring it.

"Cheyenne return a gift with a gift," Michaela told him, glad Cal and Cloud Dancing seemed to be getting along despite their first meeting.

Cal shrugged, ashamed. "I don't have anything with me right now." He felt his pockets. "Except..." He pulled out his jack knife, handing it across the fire. "I guess I don't really need this. Here."

Cloud Dancing pulled out the blade and touched it to his palm. "Yes, this is good. Now I will tell you about the Cheyenne."

All the way home Cal was silent, hugging Katie protectively as he thought over what the wise Indian had told him. He couldn't shake the images from his mind: starving women and children, their men unable to do anything to help, crates of supposed food that turned out to be useless shovels and hoes, feuding between tribes forced to live together, sickness deliberately brought by the army, Snow Bird's death, babies slain without any remorse. These were not the Indians he had been taught to fear and hate. They were innocent men, women and children, no different from he. He felt sick.

As soon as they reached the homestead Cal immediately set to work unhitching the horse, not even glancing at Michaela as she took the children upstairs to lay them down for a nap before lunch. Once they were asleep, she returned outside. "Do you need some help?" she called from the porch.

"This is men's work," he informed her, unbuckling the girth.

"I can hitch and unhitch a wagon as good and as quick as any of you men," Michaela replied doggedly, walking down the steps.

"Is that so?" he murmured, slowing his pace.

She came to his side. "Cal, about this morning..."

"What about it?" he said softly. "I went, I listened to the man talk, I left. There's nothing left to say."

She put her hand on his back. "You were moved by Cloud Dancing's stories. I know you were."

He shook his head firmly, then dropped his hands to his sides, bending his head.

"Oh, Cal." She took him in her arms and held him close.

He tentatively put his arm around her waist. She was so small and thin, he thought if he squeezed too tight, she might break. "I feel terrible, Michaela," he whispered. "I've never heard anything like it. They weren't just stories. They were true and they were frightening. People like me make their life hell." She tensed in his arms. "Heck," he quickly substituted.

"But now," she assured him, "...now when you encounter someone speaking about the Indians unfairly, or treating them any differently than one would a white person, you must be brave and tell them you saw, and you know."

He touched his medicine pouch. "I feel like I don't deserve this. I feel like a hypocrite."

"Sully always said we can't change the past, but we can change the future. Take what you've learned and never forget it, and you'll always be worthy of Cloud Dancing's gift."

"That's sweet to say, Mike." He suddenly felt awkward as close to her as he was, and pulled back. "Thanks."

She lowered her eyes. "Are we still on for dinner?"

"You bet ya," he promised.

Brian trudged into the barn, tossed his schoolbooks in a corner, and picked up a rake. Cal was in Flash's stall, currycomb in hand. "Hey, Brian," he called, poking his head out from under the horse's long neck.

"Hey," Brian murmured, eyes downcast as he began to rake aimlessly.

"What's the matter?" Cal asked, rubbing Flash's shoulders with the comb. "Didn't the algebra test go well? We studied for a good hour."

"School was fine," Brian assured him.

"You're moping around like a Dixie losing the war," Cal informed him. "Maybe I can help? Or your mother's inside-"

Brian ceased raking. "No. No, Mr. Brooks, please. I don't tell Ma these things."

"Why's that?" Cal asked, amused.

"Why? Well, because she's...my ma."

Cal smiled. "Woman troubles?"

Brian drew in his breath. "How'd ya know that?"

He chuckled. "'Lucky guess, son."

Brian smiled. Son. He liked that. He came to Cal's side. "I s'pose it wouldn't hurt...to just tell ya what happened."

"S'pose not," Cal agreed, leaning against Flash's corral and preparing to listen.

"There's this dance comin' up in a few weeks. The Sweetheart's Dance?"

"Never heard of it," Cal admitted.

"Well, it's kinda an annual thing. We have it every summer in town. Everybody goes. Everybody brings somebody."

Cal nodded. "Sounds like fun."

"I ain't havin' fun now. I asked this real pretty girl, Susanna, if she'd like to go, an' she said sure-"

"Well then, you're all set," Cal interrupted, smiling.

"That's not all she said," Brian murmured. "She said sure, but she already told Billy Huntington she'd go with him. Billy beat me to her."

Cal shook his head. "That's too bad. Well, there's other fish in the sea. Who else do you like?"

Brian blushed. "No one," he said quickly.

"There's gotta be lots of girls in this town available."

"There's Sarah Sheehan," Brian admitted. "But I went with her last year."

"So?" Cal replied. "Go with her again."

"I s'pose...I could. We did have a good time."

"Tomorrow at school, you put on your best smile and go up and ask her," Cal instructed.

"You think she'd say yes?" Brian wondered.

"Won't know 'til ya ask." Cal worked the currycomb down Flash's back. "This dance is for the whole town ya say?"

"Yep. Except little kids. I mean, it's too late for babies like Katie an' B. to be up."

"Your ma'll have to get a sitter," Cal remarked slowly.

"Oh, she won't need one. She'll probably stay home with them. She wouldn't go alone. I don't think she wants to go at all anyways."

"You think she'd go with a friend?" Cal asked, rubbing his chin.

Brian shrugged. "I don't know. It'd be great if she did, but I can't see it happening." He smiled. "S'pose ya can't know for sure unless ya ask, Mr. Brooks."

Cal chuckled. "S'pose so."

to be continued...


	3. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

"And so I says to him, 'Mister', I says, 'if you want to come with us, you're gonna have to hang onto the back, 'cause I told ya three times there ain't no room.'"

Brian held his stomach, laughing. "You really told him that, Mr. Brooks? What'd he do?"

Cal chuckled, shoving the last forkful of green beans into his mouth. "He looks from me to Harry, all annoyed-like." Cal swallowed the beans. "And turns around, hops up onto the back..." He burst into laughter. "And he says, he shouts, 'hee-yah!', and we take off!" He pounded his fist on the table for emphasis. "And Harry, he says..." He stopped himself. "Well, never mind what he said."

Michaela felt her lips quivering into a grin and held them firmly in check. Byron squirmed in his high chair as Brian gave him another spoonful of mashed up baked beans Grace had prepared especially for him. "He just hopped on in his suit?" Michaela questioned, picking at her buttery mashed potatoes with her spoon.

"Yep, in his suit and top hat and all. Ya shoulda seen him when we stopped at Santa Fe." Cal eyed her plate. "Eat, slow poke," he ordered. Michaela scowled and put a small portion of potatoes in her mouth.

"Bet he was a mess," Brian chortled.

"Just covered in dust and dirt, manure and God knows what else!" Cal replied.

Katie banged her empty cup on her highchair tray. "Ma-noo!" she repeated.

Cal and Brian laughed, Michaela frowned. "No, Katie," she scolded. "Don't say that."

Byron placed his dimpled hand on his big sister's tray, and she pushed it away. The baby boy waited a few seconds then placed it back on again. "Ma-noo," Katie said quietly, imitating her mother's frown. Once again Katie pushed Byron's hand off, moaning. "Stop," she ordered. Byron gazed at her curiously.

Cal lifted the toddler from her high chair and sat her in his lap, facing him. "Katie, you're not pronouncing it right. Say, Ma-noo-er."

Katie touched his lips. "Ma-noo-a."

Michaela put her fork down. "Cal, enough. Don't teach her that."

Cal held one finger up. "Now say, I love ya, Mama."

Katie giggled. "I love ya, Mama," she repeated perfectly, beaming at Michaela who couldn't help but smile, faintly.

"Smart kid," Cal said, handing her over to her mother. "Don't waste all that food, Michaela. That's good fried chicken."

She eyed him stubbornly, rubbing Katie's back. "I'm full."

"Hewe Mama, gween bean," Katie spoke up helpfully, holding one up with her sticky fingers.

"Katie, no," Michaela mumbled as the child shoved the bean against her lips.

"Swow poke," Katie accused, giggling as Michaela frowned again.

"You're a bad influence, Cal," Michaela informed him, giving in and taking the bean from Katie's grasp with her teeth.

He pretended to be hurt. "Just put a knife through my heart."

"Tell us another story, Mr. Brooks," Brian spoke up, "about driving stagecoaches. Do you see a lotta buffalo? Cloud Dancin' says you're lucky if ya see one now days."

Cal winced at the mention of the Indian. "Yeah, I've seen a few buffalo. Speaking of which, Brian, I was wondering if you'd want to come on a trip with me."

Brian raised his brow. "A trip?"

Michaela switched her attention from her plate of food and Katie to Cal. Cal nodded. "Yeah. A hunting trip. Do you like to hunt, son?"

Brian shrugged. "Sure, but...I mean, not for sport."

Cal scratched his head. "Well then, we'll eat our kill: fine venison, or rabbit stew, or pheasant maybe."

Brian's eyes lit up. "Yeah. When, Mr. Brooks?"

"How does next Friday afternoon--after school of course--'til Sunday sound? If that's all right with Michaela."

"I don't care for guns," she replied politely.

"It's not all guns, Mike," he explained. "I trap, too, and do some fishing. My pa and I used to go up to Wisconsin with the canoe."

"Please, Ma?" Brian spoke up. "I'm awful careful with guns and bows an' arrows and anything like that. You know I am." He paused. "Sully taught me, remember?"

"You'll miss church," she reminded him, closing her eyes at the mention of Sully. Brian so needed a father, someone to take him hunting and fishing, talk with him, do things with him she couldn't.

"It's only this one time," Cal pointed out. "I promise he'll be in the front row the next Sunday, and maybe I'll come, too."

She sighed. "Well...I suppose, but only for those three days. Please be careful, Cal. He's only thirteen."

"Ma," Brian protested, "I ain't a baby."

"Baby or not, you could still get hurt," she pointed out.

"I'll be so careful, Ma, I promise," he vowed, taking her hand across the table.

"Michaela, just the woman I wanted to see!" She started. There was only one person she knew who possessed that voice. Preston Lodge approached the table and cordially tipped his hat. "I must say you're looking..." He eyed her up and down, sneering. "Lovely." He glared at Cal. "My, my, my. Who might this be?"

"This is my friend Cal Brooks," Michaela said, emphasizing friend so there wouldn't be any confusion.

The banker shook Cal's hand firmly. "Preston A. Lodge, the third," he announced proudly. "Rumor has it you're living with our dear friend Michaela." His lips curled into a derisive grin.

"Visiting," Michaela corrected, face flushing with embarrassment. "He's visiting."

"Yes, of course. Mr. Brooks, if you choose to invest your hard earned cash--and I guarantee it's a wise choice--come see me." He turned back to Michaela. "Might I have a word with you? In private?"

Michaela gave Cal an apologetic look. "Excuse me." She rose from the table and Preston took her arm, leading her a dozen feet away, not quite out of earshot. "I think you know what this is about," he began, his tone on the verge of annoyance.

Michaela shook her head. "I'm sorry, I don't."

Preston looked heavenward with a sigh. "Your loan, Michaela? You're over two weeks late on this month's payment."

Michaela's expression fell. "Oh my goodness. I completely forgot. Preston..."

"Now I realize you've had to assume all of your husband's responsibilities, and no doubt you're still trying to adjust, so because I'm a sympathetic man, I'll give you one more week." He flashed a toothy smile, as if an extra week was bending over backwards for her.

She gasped. "A week! Preston, that's hardly enough time. Give me...give me another month. I'll come up with it, somehow."

"Another month! Preposterous! One week Michaela, or your homestead belongs to me." He smiled to himself at the thought.

Michaela felt tears coming to her eyes. No, not the homestead. Sully built the homestead. "Preston...Preston, please. That's not enough time."

"And you must return to the clinic," he said, touching his chin. "Obviously."

"The clinic..." she experimented. The idea of going back to work, doing something she enjoyed, hadn't entered her thoughts for some time.

"Yes, the clinic. How else are you going to manage to make regular loan payments? Of course you could always scrounge up another of Sully's friends, bat your eyelashes and get him to bail you out." He observed her black attire up and down. "However, you must shed this depressing costume. It really doesn't become you, Michaela."

She narrowed her eyes angrily. "I won't be spoken to that way, Mr. Lodge."

He sighed. "Michaela, it's common sense. If you don't go back to work, you won't be able to pay off the loan. If you don't pay off the loan, you'll lose the roof over your head...and you won't have a job either because mark my words I'll go straight to the town council, remind them that we haven't had a steady doctor for nearly a year, and get them to put out an advertisement for a new physician. One who can be counted on! I'm about fed up with Dr. Cook being dragged away from my Health Resort every other minute to treat your patients. This man has had enough!" He pointed a finger at his chest, breathing heavily.

Michaela stared at him for a moment, digesting his words, then sniffled, her lips trembling.

Preston eyed her uncomfortably. "What are you doing?"

She shook her head, closing her eyes as a few tears slipped down her cheeks.

Preston looked as if he had been punched in the stomach. "Are you crying?" He scrunched up his nose. "Michaela Quinn, stop this at once," he commanded.

Cal appeared at Michaela's side, red-checked napkin tucked in his collar. "What's the matter?" he asked, gazing at her worriedly.

"I'm sorry," she choked out, staring at her feet.

Preston gestured at the doctor, bewildered. "She's crying. Just look at her. She's...she's bawling! Preston A. Lodge has never made anyone's eyes tear in his entire life, and doesn't intend to start now!"

Cal gave Michaela his napkin to dry her eyes. "Go sit down," he told her gently.

Reluctantly, she returned to her seat, where Brian patted her hand and offered words of condolence.

"What did you say?" Cal immediately demanded, keeping his voice low.

Preston nervously wrung his hands. "Good man, I merely informed Michaela that her next loan payment is due in a week. If not, her homestead will be foreclosed. Since she and Sully took out the loan a year ago, she has been well aware of the consequences should payments be late, and I refuse to feel compassion for this spectacle of emotion meant to intimidate me!"

Cal swallowed. "As ya can see she don't have the money."

"Then she must return to the clinic," Preston retorted. "Am I the only one here with any sense?"

"Would you let me make the payment?" Cal asked.

Preston threw his hands in the air. "I don't care who it comes from, as long as I get it."

"I have some money saved up in a bank in Chicago. I'll have it wired to you tomorrow." Cal thought a moment. "I don't want her to know I paid it off," he whispered. "Could you just take the money from her when she has it, and then give it back to me at another time?"

Preston sighed. "That will be a great inconvenience...but I suppose I could. Just this once, mind you."

"Then go over and tell her she has a month," Cal instructed.

Preston sighed again. "I really don't care for this, Mr. Brooks."

"You're getting your money," Cal reminded him. "Tomorrow."

"Oh, for heaven's sake." Preston sauntered over to the table. "Michaela...I've reconsidered."

She gazed up at him timidly.

He glanced at Cal. "I'll expect payment in full in one month's time." He tipped his hat. "Good evening." With that, he was gone.

Michaela was dumbstruck. "Cal, how did you...?"

He shrugged. "He felt bad for making you upset," he said.

She blushed. "I didn't mean to do that."

He sat back down, touching her arm. "Don't worry about it."

"I probably would have cried, too," Brian spoke up helpfully. "Mr. Lodge can be so mean sometimes."

"He was right," Michaela admitted. "I'm late on the loan payment." She folded her hands. "I'll have to go back to the clinic." The thought frightened her.

"I peeked in there the other day, Ma," Brian said. "It's awful dusty and dirty."

"It just needs a good cleaning," Cal spoke up. "Tomorrow, Michaela, I'll go with ya and help ya clean up, how's that sound?"

She nodded. "All right," she whispered uncertainly.

& & &

"Bet it feels good to be back in here," Cal remarked, scrubbing the windowpanes vigorously with a wet cloth. "Whoo-ee...does this place need a dusting!"

Michaela sifted through her medical records, repositioning a few that were out of order.

He glanced at her. "Do you realize...Michaela?"

She looked up briefly. "Hm?"

"I was just gonna say, do you realize ya didn't go to bed once yesterday? During the day, that is? What with being at the Reservation and then dinner, there wasn't time for napping."

She pulled out a record, opened it, and leafed through it aimlessly. "Hm-mm."

"Well, how did it feel?" he asked.

She returned the record to its place. "It was...exhausting."

He moved to the next window and scrubbed at its panes. "Ya just gotta get your strength back. Eat a little more, get out a bit more. You'll feel better."

"Nothing's changed, Cal," she whispered, pulling a cloth from her apron pocket and opening the medicine cabinet. She carefully removed a bottle, dusted it off, and placed it back in the cabinet. Castor Oil, Sulfate of Quinine, Dover's Powder, Laudanum. Laudanum. Her hand shook at the thought. "Sometimes I wonder..." she murmured, stroking the bottle with her thumb, "what it would be like to just...go to sleep."

Cal continued his scrubbing. "Are ya having trouble sleeping? Maybe we can take ya to Dr. Cook's this afternoon, see what he thinks."

"When I sleep, I don't feel," she went on, pondering the laudanum, in a trance. She could lie down on her bed, take the drug, and close her eyes. She would be with Sully. She wanted to be with him more than life itself.

"Nope, neither do I," Cal replied. "Except I dream a lot. Do you dream a lot, too?"

"I wouldn't dream this time," she replied, more to herself. "I wouldn't have to endure any more pain."

Something didn't sound right. Cal put down his cloth, quickly coming to her side. "What are you talking about, Michaela?" he demanded slowly.

She closed her eyes. "Nothing."

He tore the bottle from her grasp. "Laudanum? Laudanum's a powerful drug. I don't want you taking this. We'll ask the doctor for something better to help ya sleep."

She shook her head. "I don't want to wake up."

He froze in horror. She wasn't just talking about a little nap. "Michaela..."

Tears trickled down her cheeks and her lip quivered. "I don't w-want to wake up, Cal..."

To be continued


	4. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

"How long ya been thinking about this?" Cal asked softly, rubbing her back.

"I-I don't know," she murmured. "I suppose it's always been in the back of my mind."

"You don't want to do this," he told her firmly.

"Sometimes I think I do," she insisted.

Cal led her to sit on the nearby bench, taking hold of her hand and not letting go.

"When we had the stagecoach accident...just before we turned over..." She paused to take another deep breath. "I didn't want to survive it, Cal. I didn't want anyone to rescue me."

"God, Michaela." Memories of the death of his father quickly came back.

She shook her head. "I wish..."

"Wish ya had died?" Cal demanded. "Taking the baby along with you?"

Her breath caught in her throat. "No, of course I wouldn't wish that on Byron."

"That's what would've happened if ya hadn't survived," he reminded her bluntly.

She trembled. "You don't understand. I can't do this any more," she whimpered. "I can't go on."

"Michaela, I don't have to pretend. I know what suicide is. My own pa shot himself. Afterwards, I felt to blame, like I could of done something, like I wasn't enough for him. I still can't shake those feelings, Michaela, and it's been years since he did it. I know it's the most selfish act a person could ever do."

"I don't care," she moaned.

"Oh, you don't? You don't care about Brian, Katie, and Byron then, is that it?"

Tears slipped down her cheeks. "You know I do. I love them with all my heart."

"You love them with all your heart ya say, so to show 'em just that, you're gonna take that laudanum and wait for what? Maybe Brian comes home from school wanting to show ya a test he aced, and finds ya. Or maybe Katie...maybe she falls and skins her knee and comes to you for help. She'll shake ya and shake ya, but ya won't be able to wake up. Finding ya lying there'll be the last memory they'll have of their ma. What do you think that's gonna do to them?"

Michaela lips quivered. "They'll b-be all right."

"You think so?" he retorted. "You think Brian's gonna be just fine even if another mother is taken from him?"

"He's strong," she said firmly.

"Not without you, Michaela...I know you're hurting. I know you don't want to go on and I can't blame ya for that, but for those kids, you have got to be brave. You can't leave them. You're all they've got, make no mistake." He grasped her shoulders. "Now you look me in the eyes, and tell me ya ain't got a reason to live."

She sobbed, shaking her head.

"Say it!" he shouted. "Say Cal, there ain't a single thing in this world that could give me reason to live! I wish I would've broken my neck like everyone else in the accident and taken the baby with me. I don't hear anything, Michaela! This is what Sully would want! Say it! Say, Sully would want me to die and leave his children without their mama!"

She screamed. "Stop! Stop, Cal! Stop!"

"Louder!"

"Stop!" she cried, tilting her head toward the ceiling, tears pouring down her cheeks.

"Louder!" he growled.

She attacked him with her fists, beating against his chest, then clawing at his face. "I hate you!" she roared. "I hate you! I hate you!"

"That's right!" he encouraged, taking her into his arms. "You hate me because I'm the only one that's bothered to tell you the truth! And Brian, Katie, the baby...they love you with just as must passion." She held his shirt tight and sobbed. "And Daniel loves you, too, and so do Dorothy and Grace, Robert E., the Reverend...your family back in Boston. And I care for you, Michaela, ever since we first met," he assured her, stroking her hair. "Don't leave us."

"I love my babies so m-much. I don't want them to find me like that," she told him hoarsely. "I promised Sully I would take care of Byron for him."

"They need your love," he whispered back, stroking her hair comfortingly. "Ya have to know that, Michaela. They've lost their pa, but they ain't gonna lose their mama. Not now."

She sniffled, clutching his shirt tighter. "Oh Cal, help me. I can't do this alone. I d-don't want to f-feel like this any more. Oh."

"I'm here. I'm here," he murmured, rocking her slowly. "We're gonna get through it, Michaela. I promise. You're gonna live again. I promise."

"There you are," Cal called, jogging over to Michaela. She was leaning against the old oak tree in the front yard, gazing up at the cloudless sky. He held out her shawl. "Katie and Byron are asleep," he told her, "and Brian's just finishing the last of his homework. I went upstairs to tell him to get started on it, and found out he was almost through."

"He's very self-motivated," she told him quietly, placing the shawl over her shoulders.

"Yeah. And bright, too. Takes after his ma."

She glanced at him. "Sully used to say that. We never thought of Brian as not being our real son."

"Well, when ya love someone, they're like family," Cal remarked, rubbing his arms to keep away the chill.

She gazed up at the sky. "We'd watch the stars together, Sully and I. He'd take me on little overnight trips. He'd get me away from things when I most needed a reprieve. He was always thinking of me."

"Sounds real nice," Cal told her, smiling.

"We'd watch for shooting stars and make wishes. He'd give his wishes to me...I would always..." She lowered her eyes, her voice growing hoarse. "...I'd always wish it would never end."

Cal swallowed, throat growing thick with sympathy.

"Cal," she sobbed, "I miss him so much."

He nodded, holding her arm and urging her to continue.

"My friends," she whispered, swiping at her nose with one hand, "they tell me, 'God never gives us more than we can handle.' They mean well, but..."

"But it makes ya feel worse," Cal whispered compassionately.

She nodded, choking up. "Sometimes, lying in bed at night, I grow so terribly frightened. I think God's given me more--so much m-more than I could ever possibly handle. Sully was always here to comfort me. He knew when I was frightened, and he would hold me and be here for me. I always felt safe in his arms. Now, sometimes I think no one's here. No one understands."

Cal took her hand. "I can't say I know the loss ya've been through, but Michaela, I can promise you ya got so many people here for you. You got so many friends that want you to get better, and you've got three of the sweetest, most loving kids I ever met that need ya so much. And ya got me, Michaela. You know you can tell me what you're feeling."

Her entire body trembled. "I loved him so much. Oh God, I love him s-so much."

He closed his eyes, never wishing he could take away her pain more than at that moment. He took her in his arms, cradling her close, and she hung on, rested her head on his shoulder, and wept.

"There's a time for everything," Cal began. "A time to cry, to grieve...and a time to laugh and dance." He stroked her hair. "You'll laugh and dance again."

"A time to tear," she whispered. "My heart's torn into two."

"A time to heal and repair," he encouraged. "Your time's gonna come soon. I know it will."

"You'll be here?" she asked softly, pulling back.

"Nothing's more important to me. Nothing's more important than seeing you smile. Michaela, if you feel alone, if ya feel like ya can't go on, I want ya to tell me. Day or night, I'll be here, to talk, to listen, whatever ya want."

She drew in her breath. "Everything's an effort. Even waking up is difficult, let alone getting out of bed. It hurts so much. Far greater than any physical pain one could experience." She looked him in the eyes, wanting him to understand what she could only try to put into words. "But there's a part of me that doesn't want that hurting to stop. It's as if the moment it stops, then I've lost him. The only way to keep him with me is to force myself to feel the pain." She took a deep breath. "Does that make sense?"

"Sure it does," Cal whispered, "but Michaela, you can let go of that pain without letting go of the memories. You'll always have those. Even if someday you no longer cry for him, nothing can ever take Sully from your heart." He grasped her arm. "Sometimes it helps to speak of those we lost, even though it hurts. You can tell me about Sully. I'd listen."

"You would?" she murmured.

"Of course I would. Let's get out of this chilly breeze and sit in front of the fire. I want to hear all about your prince."

She smiled. "He was, Cal. He was."

"He made me ask him," Michaela went on, smiling slightly, eyes dreamy. "He said, 'will I what?' He knew perfectly well what I was talking about." The rocking chair creaked slowly back and forth.

"So what did you say?" Cal asked, entranced by the romantic tale, Michaela's low, warm voice, and the way her lips curled into a lop-sided grin.

She chuckled. "I said, 'will you marry me?'"

"And he said?" Cal teased.

She took him seriously. "He said 'yes', took me in his arms and spun me around. We talked all afternoon, about when we wanted to be married, what sort of wedding we wanted, about the homestead he was working on, our hopes for the rest of our lives. We dreamed of at least two children. He wanted a girl first and then a boy. It worked out, because I've never had a brother, and he'd never had a sister." Her lips trembled.

"You gave him that girl and boy," Cal reminded her. "In the right order, too," He patted her hand.

She lowered her eyes. "We talked of more than just having the children. Sully said he would order fancy dresses for our little girl and give her candy and spoil her, and he wanted to teach our son baseball and fishing, how to throw a tomahawk, help him climb trees and ride a horse. I know he would have been such a wonderful father for the two of them, if only he had the chance. I watched him with Katie, the first year of her life. 'Pa' was her first word, and it was fitting. There's nothing he wouldn't have done for her." A tear slipped down her cheek. "But if we could have nothing else, we only wanted to watch them grow. That's all, Cal. Sully and I just wanted to be together as they grew. We never counted on...anything like this. I never thought I'd be alone ever again."

"Brian and I leave in two days. Michaela, if you don't want us to go, just say the word."

She shook her head. "No, I want you to. Cal, thank you for doing this for Brian. My husband used to take him hunting. They had such good times together. I think Brian really misses that. No, I know he does."

"Then while we're gone, I want you to do something for me." "What?" she asked curiously.

"Take a pad of paper and a pen and write down all these wonderful memories you've told me."

"Write them down?" she questioned.

"Yeah, and someday when Katie and Byron are wondering about their pa, you can read what you've written to them, like reading them a story. I know they can't ever really know him, but maybe hearing about him and how much he loved them, even before they were born...maybe it'll help. Maybe it'll help you, too."

She considered. "I could give it a try," she admitted. "Though I don't know where to begin."

"At the beginning," Cal suggested. "When you first saw Sully."

She chuckled. "That's a story in itself."

Cal took her hand. "Well, ya got plenty of time." He searched her eyes. "I got something for you." He pulled out a folded, small piece of paper and placed it in her hand. "Don't give me an answer right away. We're gonna be gone for three days. Think about it over that time before ya tell me."

"Think about what?" she asked, puzzled.

"Just read the note," he directed, standing up. "Guess I'll turn in. Goodnight, Mike." He turned for the stairs.

"Goodnight," she called softly. Mike. That reminded her of her father and of her sister Rebecca. It was nice to hear it again. She listened to Cal's door open and close, then she slowly opened the folded message.

Michaela,

A time to dance. I'd be very honored if you would attend the Sweetheart's Dance on my arm. Think about it while we're gone, then say yes.

Cal

Michaela shook her head. "Oh, Cal," she murmured under her breath.

Cal rapped firmly on the sheriff's door.

"It's open!" Daniel called.

Cal entered, removing his hat. Daniel was sitting at his desk, chewing on a bacon and egg sandwich from the café, feet propped up on a mess of loose-leaf papers and documents. "Calvin," he said, mouth full. "Oh, shoot. Is it Tuesday? I'm plum losing track of the days." He put his feet down, preparing to disembark for the homestead and a day of looking after two children he could never seem to make happy.

Cal waved his hand. "No, it's Thursday, Daniel. You didn't forget anything."

Daniel let out a relieved sigh, sitting back in his chair. "Well, ya scared me there, son."

Son? Cal thought to himself, raising a brow. He couldn't be more than a few years younger than the sheriff. He cleared his throat. "I came to ask ya a favor. A big favor actually."

"What's that?" Daniel replied hesitantly.

"Look...can I sit down?" Cal asked uncomfortably.

Daniel nodded at a small chair across the room. "Pull her up," he directed, and Cal obliged.

Cal rested his hands on his knees. "Brian and I are gonna go hunting for a few days, until Sunday. We leave tomorrow."

Daniel was about to inform him that Michaela detested guns, but thought better of it. Let Cal Brooks find out on his own. "Yeah? Well, I'd love to go, Calvin, really I would, but I'm a busy man. Bein' sheriff's a big job."

"Right. Uh...we'll miss you. I was gonna ask if, while we're gone, you could come to the homestead and stay with Michaela."

Daniel's eyes lit up. "Sure thing--I mean, I'll have to see if I have anything going on...court hearings, business in Denver, things like that." He flipped quickly through a few pages in a small notebook. "Nope, nothing important. I'll be there."

"Good," Cal said. "I'd really appreciate it if you'd keep a close eye on her. If you could stay nearby, watch her every second, that'd be even better."

Daniel raised his brows. "Every single second?"

Cal raised his brows. "Well, Sheriff, obviously not every single second..."

Daniel coughed. "Oh. Right." He scratched his head. "Uh, what am I watching for?"

Cal took a deep breath. "Michaela...Michaela told me the other day...well, you know she's having a hard time moving on."

Daniel nodded bitterly. "Yeah, I know."

Cal lowered his voice. "She's...she's thought a few times...about suicide."

Daniel's mouth fell open. "You're mistaken."

Cal shook his head. "She told me straight out."

Daniel leaned forward. "Suicide...crazy people think about suicide."

Cal stroked his sprouting whiskers. "She's not crazy, Daniel. She's just...she's sad. At a certain point people can't live like that any more. They either gotta get better...or..."

"She's not thinkin' straight," Daniel said quickly, the thought of losing Michaela as well as his hope of winning her hand hitting him hard.

"That's true," Cal agreed. "She's not seeing what's around her, her family and friends, all that she has to live for. It's gonna take awhile before she's gonna see that clearly, so right now she needs to be looked after carefully. Leave her alone and you're asking for trouble."

"She needs someone to look after her every day," Daniel proposed. "I think she needs to think of a husband. Someone dependable, someone that can love her and make her happy." He cleared his throat. "I...I've thought of proposing to Michaela."

Cal almost laughed. "You have?"

Daniel avoided his eyes. "Sure. I mean, it's clear she sees we have somethin'."

"She does? How do you know?" Cal murmured. "I mean...she don't really seem fond of anything right now." He wasn't sure why he felt threatened.

"Well, maybe she hasn't said anything yet, but it's there, buried just under the surface, waiting to come out." Daniel's eyes glazed over. "You know when the right woman's fallen for ya. The way she looks at you, talks to you, thanks ya for all the little things you've done."

"Michaela looks at you...in that way?" Cal questioned, put out.

"Sure!" Daniel boasted, on a roll. He was beginning to believe Michaela really was in love with him. "Little over a year ago--'fore Sully passed on, I met her for the first time. We got along well--real well--if you catch my drift."

Cal let out a slow breath. "Really?" he murmured. Michaela seemed so devastated over the loss of Sully. She spoke of him as if he were a saint. It was hard to picture her eyes straying...and straying to Daniel. He snickered. All the men in town, and she picks him.

Daniel smiled. "Yes, siree. We felt the temptation, but I said to myself, now Daniel, Michaela's a married woman. It ain't right."

"But she's not married anymore," Cal pointed out. He was beginning to really dislike the sheriff. He clenched his right hand in a fist, wondering what he would look like with a bloody nose. He supposed it wouldn't do good to attack the town sheriff, though.

Daniel's eyes darkened. "But Michaela's gotta get better, Calvin. If she's going to move on and marry again, she can't be crazy."

"She's not crazy," Cal insisted.

"How do we really know?" Daniel whispered. "I mean, what sane woman do you know that never eats, never gets out of bed, wears nothing but black...has two babies she's never up and around to take care of? Aren't these nuthouses just full of people like her?"

Cal's cheeks flushed with anger. "She don't belong in a nuthouse. What she needs is some persistence, and some love. Don't let her out of your sight, Daniel."

"Love," Daniel echoed. "I can give that to her. Just give me time, Calvin. Michaela'll get better, you're right. I'll wait."

Cal didn't trust the sheriff, didn't like him for a reason he wasn't sure of, but if Daniel's story was true--if Michaela really did love him...then he wished for her to get better and accept Daniel's proposal. Most importantly, he wanted her happy.

to be continued...


	5. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

Brian scooped his little sister into his arms. "Be a good girl, Katie, all right? Mind Ma and Daniel."

"Bring back pwesent," Katie replied, holding his shirt collar.

Brian chuckled. "I'll try and bring ya back a little venison, how's that?" He sat her on the top stair of the porch, then turned to his mother.

"You're sure you have everything?" Michaela questioned worriedly for the fifth time that day. "Extra socks, matches, mittens in case it gets cold?"

"I got everything," he assured her.

"Underwear?" she asked.

"Ma!" Brian protested, mortified. Cal covered his smile with his hand. Byron squirmed in his arms. He playfully stuck out his tongue at the baby and lifted him into the air. Katie looked on in admiration. She wished she were old enough to hold her brother, swing him and throw him around. It looked like so much fun when she watched Cal with him.

"Do you have it?" Michaela persisted.

"Yes," Brian whispered firmly.

She gave him a hug and a kiss. "Have a good time."

"We will," he promised, smiling. "You take care, Ma."

She nodded. "I will."

Brian shook Daniel's hand, gave his baby brother a pat on the head, then descended the porch stairs and mounted Taffy.

Cal took a step closer to Michaela. "Well, we'll see ya in a few days."

"Be careful," she cautioned.

"Always am," he said assuringly, pulling the baby's fingers from his hair. He took her hand. "Daniel's here to listen if ya wanna talk," he said more quietly, "and I'll be back in no time."

"All right, Cal," she replied, the thought of pouring her heart out to Daniel not exactly appealing.

"Keep busy," he went on. "There's lots to catch up on at the clinic I bet, and your patients will be wanting to see you. Write down your memories, too. Don't forget that."

"All right," she whispered.

"All right," he echoed. "Here's the baby." He put Byron in his mother's arms. "Don't be giving your ma any trouble, Squirt," he told him, rubbing his back.

"Good-bye, Cal," Michaela said quietly, holding Byron close.

He put his hand atop hers briefly. "Bye, Mike."

Cal turned to Daniel, looking him in the eyes. "Take care of her. Watch her," he whispered, shaking his hand.

"I will," Daniel promised. His job would be all too easy. "Have a good time, boys!"

Cal mounted his horse, squeezing her belly with his thighs. He and Brian waved, calling their last good-byes as they rode out of sight.

Katie stood up and shielded her eyes with her hands. "Bye!" she called with all her might. She turned to her mother. "Mama, when Bian coming back?"

"A few days," Michaela replied absently, squinting her eyes at the two riders.

Katie sniffled. "I wanna go."

Daniel knelt to her level. "They're goin' hunting, Katie." He spoke slowly and in a sweet tone, as if the child couldn't understand him otherwise. "Hunting's for big boys."

She let out a tiny sob. "I'm a giwl," she told him despondently, sticking out her lower lip.

He laughed. "'Course you're a girl. 'Sides, you wouldn't like hunting. There's big guns that make loud noises." He pointed his finger out toward the road, creating an imaginary pistol. "Bang-bang!" he shouted suddenly, then blew fictitious smoke from his finger.

The child let out a terrified screech, running to her mother and cowering behind her skirts.

"You're scaring her, Daniel," Michaela scolded.

Daniel put his hands on his knees and stood up, disconcerted. "I was just playin' with her. She ain't a baby."

Michaela caressed Katie's head consolingly. "She's still very young and things like that frighten her." She took the child's hand, squeezing it reassuringly. "Daniel's very sorry, sweetheart. He was only pretending. Come inside now."

Katie held Michaela's hand tight, turned her head back to the sheriff and thrust her tongue out at him--just as she had seen Cal playfully sticking his tongue out at Byron--and followed her mother indoors.

"Ahhhhh!" Katie giggled hysterically, making another round through the kitchen, hallway, and sitting room, the pitter-patter of her speedy bare feet echoing throughout the house.

"Katie!" Daniel bellowed, chasing after the child clutching her dress, stockings, and shoes, all in one hand and Byron in his other arm, facing frontward and delighting in being sped around the house.

The two-year-old was stark naked, and had been so for the past ten minutes. Daniel had given her breakfast then taken her upstairs to dress her. The second he had pulled off her nightshift Katie had taken off, racing down the stairs, and now around and around the ground floor of the house. At first Daniel thought it would be easy to catch her. He soon learned that toddlers were fast. Very fast.

Katie headed back up the stairs, taking her smile and giggles with her. No one was more fun to play chase with than the sheriff.

"Katie!" Daniel shouted, anger seeping into his voice. Out of breath, he pounded up the stairs. He caught a glimpse of a pale little bottom racing into Cal's bedroom. Daniel stormed the room. The child was no where to be seen.

Daniel watched the floor for any movement. "Katie, now enough's, enough. Daniel's gettin' tired of this game. Come out and hold still like a good little girl, so's I can put your clothes on."

Snickering from under the bed betrayed the playful child's hiding place.

"Got ya!" Daniel said triumphantly, bending to his knees, placing Byron on the floor next to him, and peering under the bed. Katie laughed harder as Daniel stretched his fingers in her direction, close to her, but not close enough. "Dang it," he muttered under his breath. "Come here, Katie...come to Daniel," he soothed.

"No!" Katie retorted, scrunched up beneath the bed.

He looked her in the eyes. She had the fire of her mother that was for sure. "We're not gonna play this any more, Katie," he said firmly.

"Why?" she immediately questioned, putting her thumb in her mouth.

He thought a moment. "Well, because only a bad girl runs around without her clothes and makes nice men chase her until they can't anymore. You don't want to be bad, now do ya?"

She shook her head, intimidated. "Bian say, be good," she reminded herself.

"That's right. Now either you come out now, or I'm gonna have to crawl under there and get ya."

Katie's face brightening. "Get!" she said, opting for the latter.

Sighing with frustration, Daniel maneuvered down on his belly and began wiggling under the bed. Katie waited until he was about half way under, within a foot of her, then sped out the other side of the bed and took off, laughing ecstatically.

Daniel slammed his fist on the floor. "She's got the devil in her," he mumbled, coming out from the bed and swiping up the baby. The sound of mother and daughter conversing led Daniel to Katie's next hiding spot. He swung open the bedroom door. Michaela was sitting up in bed, several sheets of paper piled beside her and her fingers gripping a pen. She gave Katie a hand up onto the bed.

"Where are your clothes, sweetheart?" Michaela asked patiently.

Katie straddled her mother's torso and grasped her arms with both hands. "I playin' chase!" she announced, pointing at Daniel.

Out of breath, the sheriff placed the baby on the floor to crawl, then leaned against the doorframe. "She won't let me put her clothes on, Michaela," he told her.

Michaela chuckled. "Of course not."

Daniel eyed her, perplexed. "What do you mean?"

Michaela held her hand out for Katie's clothing, then gave her daughter the dress. The child placed it over her head, and soon two little limbs poked through the sleeves. She allowed her mother to straighten the pretty print pinafore and smooth the wrinkles from it. "Katie prefers to dress herself. She'll let you help tie her boot laces though." Katie worked at pulling on her stockings.

Daniel stared up at the ceiling. "Well, ya could've told me this before, Michaela."

"You might have asked Katie," Michaela responded. "She may be only two, but she's quite bright."

Katie displayed three fingers. "I gonna be tree."

Daniel sighed. "Look, I ain't had a lot of experience with little kids."

"You're learning," Michaela encouraged, tying Katie's shoes.

"I know Calvin's got them wrapped around his finger."

She glanced at him. "They get along, yes."

"You know what he's doin', don't ya?" Daniel said.

Michaela rubbed Katie's back. "I don't know what you mean."

"Using them," Daniel told her, "to get to you."

Michaela's mouth dropped open in shock. "Daniel, no. Cal's only being friendly."

"I don't trust him for one second. I don't want him here alone with you, and I don't like the idea that he and Brian are off in the middle of nowhere. Michaela, this is how women find themselves in positions they can't get out of."

"Daniel, he's leaving in a few weeks," Michaela assured him. For the first time, the fact that Cal wouldn't be staying forever filled her with a sadness she didn't quite understand.

"What if he decides to stay another month?" Daniel questioned. "Will you turn him away? Michaela, you can't be happy with him. He drives stagecoaches for God sakes. What kind of living can he possibly be making? Sure, he makes your kids laugh, and he ain't that bad looking, but what else has he got goin' for him? Like I said before, you barely know the guy. For all we know he could be some escaped convict, a gunman, bank robber. It's anybody's guess."

Michaela pondered his words for a moment. "Do you really think it's dangerous, me allowing him to stay?" she asked softly, wondering if perhaps Daniel was right.

Daniel softened his tone. "I think maybe you're not seeing things clearly. I think when this month is up, if not sooner, you should say good-bye to him, and send him on his way."

"Say good-bye?" she whispered. She never felt alone when Cal was with her. She realized he had become a friend she did not want to lose. But what if Daniel were right? What if he really were an outlaw or something of the sort? She shivered. He couldn't possibly be. Not after what he had done for her. Just the same, one could never really know, could they? "Daniel...do you think he might...he might intend to be more than my friend?"

Daniel took a step closer to her. "He's just waiting for the right moment to strike." He touched her shoulder. "I don't want to see you get hurt, Michaela. I don't want to see ya...taken advantage of. Now I could tell him to leave for ya, if ya want."

She shook her head. "No, I'll tell him, but when the month is up." Daniel was right. A man she barely knew living in her house wasn't proper, let alone safe. Perhaps he was right as well about her not seeing things clearly. Michaela folded her hands. Maybe she was going crazy after all. Her eyes filled with tears.

"Don't get upset now," Daniel murmured. "Cons like him have fooled many a woman. It's not your fault."

She shook her head. "No, I know."

"Well, do you feel up to going to the clinic today?" Daniel asked.

"No, I'd rather stay here," Michaela responded, hugging Katie to her.

Daniel peered at the loose-leaf paper. "What ya writin'?"

"Nothing." She covered the memories of Sully with her hand. "It's nothing."

"How about church then?" Daniel asked. "Let's go to church tomorrow." He thought back to how Cal had gotten Michaela out of bed. "We're goin' to church. No buts."

Michaela nodded. Church sounded appealing for some reason. "All right."

"Now, Michaela-" He paused. "All right?"

"Yes, I'd like to go," she told him.

"Oh," he stammered. "Well, good. Then that's that."

"Glad you made it this Sunday, Dr. Mike," the reverend said, clasping Michaela's hand as they stood on the church porch.

"It was a lovely sermon, Reverend," Michaela complimented as he released her hand. She cradled a cooing Byron close, eyes focused blankly ahead as she descended the steps.

"Mornin', Reverend," Daniel said, shaking the blind man's hand.

"Good morning, Sheriff," the reverend replied, smiling.

Daniel took Katie's hand, leading her down the steps to catch up with Michaela and the baby.

"What do you say we have Sunday dinner over at Grace's?" Daniel asked.

Michaela stopped in her tracks and glanced back at the remainder of the congregation greeting the reverend and descending the steps. "I think I'd rather eat at the homestead. I don't know exactly when Brian and Cal will return and I want to be home when they do." She gently pulled the baby's fist from a strand of her hair.

Daniel sighed. "All right," he agreed, disappointed.

Michaela's eyes traveled to the large oak tree, blowing with the gentle breeze, then to the solemn crosses arranged below it. She took Katie's hand and headed toward the small white gate.

"Where ya goin'?" Daniel called.

She turned back briefly. "Visiting Sully," she murmured.

"Want me to come?" he offered.

"No, thank you," she replied simply as she entered the quaint little cemetery, Byron in her arms and Katie at her side, holding a portion of her mother's black skirt.

Daniel watched, shielding his eyes.

"It's been over a year," a voice remarked.

Daniel turned his head. "Mornin', Dr. Cook."

The young doctor nodded his head in greeting. "It's been over a year," he repeated, "and she still mourns him."

Dorothy approached the group, leather-bound Bible in hand. "She loved Sully very much." Robert E. and Grace noticed the small gathering, and made their way over.

Daniel stroked his chin. "She isn't right in the head," he whispered.

Dorothy was shocked. "Daniel! What makes you say that?"

He lowered his voice even more. "We're all Michaela's friends, right? We all deserve to know what's goin' on so's we can help her the best way we can."

Robert E. nodded in agreement. "Did somethin' happen, Sheriff?" he demanded.

Daniel bent his head. "She's thought of killing herself," he admitted slowly.

Dorothy put a hand to her mouth. "Oh, Michaela!" she murmured. Grace gripped her husband's arm. Loren led the reverend to the gathering.

Andrew studied his colleague from a distance, kneeling before the grave of her husband. "Michaela has melancholia," he stated. "Extreme sadness due to any number of things, in her case the loss of someone she obviously loved very much. It can be very serious if it continues for this length of time."

"What can we do?" the reverend asked, resting his hands on his walking stick.

Andrew sighed. It was time they faced the facts. "I might suggest a...a sanitorium."

"That's what I've been thinkin'," Daniel admitted.

"A nuthouse?" Loren gasped. "Send Dr. Mike to one of those?"

"Michaela's in a fragile condition," Andrew admitted. "I'm afraid if we wait much longer she may hurt herself. There are several nice homes that could take better care of her than we could. We could take up a collection."

"Like when we thought one of those places might be good for Horace," Loren recalled.

"What about her children?" Grace challenged.

Daniel let out another sigh. "I s'pose I could look after 'em, for a time at least," he offered. "Then she'll come back and be better," he said optimistically.

"I'd be glad to help, too, but they need their mother," Grace said firmly.

"Grace is right," replied Dorothy. "I don't think a sanitorium would be good for Michaela at all. She'll likely grow worse, away from her baby, her home."

"What about that Cal fellow?" Loren spoke up. "He's lookin' after her pretty good."

Teresa and Jake noticed their friends chatting and approached them.

Daniel clenched his teeth. "Cal's dangerous," he said resolutely.

"He seemed nice enough when I met him," Grace spoke up.

"I've never seen Michaela up and around as much as I have these past few weeks," Dorothy added. "She talks, she laughs, she hosted a sewing circle meetin', went back to the clinic and today attended church. I think Cal Brooks is a lot better for her than bein' locked up somewhere."

"I really don't think so," Daniel said, annoyed, but no one was listening.

"I met him when he brought me Dr. Mike's horse to be shoed," Robert E. put in. "He said if he was ever drivin' his stagecoach through here again he'd be sure to have the horses tended to at my place."

"Brian has done better in school this month than he has all year," Teresa offered. "He has told me Mr. Brooks helps him study."

"Well, can we hire Cal to stay for good?" Jake joked.

The group chuckled.

"You may be on to something," Andrew said. "We could hire a nurse to stay at the homestead with Michaela at all times. Talk with her, make sure she's up and eating each day, just as Mr. Brooks has done."

"You might not get the chance," Dorothy advised. "I think Cal might be here for awhile yet."

"Why do you say that?" the reverend asked.

Dorothy smiled. "He's a good friend of Michaela's."

Grace's eyes glazed over. "Once she got over the fact that it was his doin' that got us all together for the sewin' circle meeting, he was all she could talk about. Cal this, Cal that. Cal's so good with the baby, Brian loves him, he's helped out so much."

"She must of told us all that three or four times," Dorothy recalled.

"If Michaela could find love again, even companionship, I think that would be the best medicine," Andrew admitted. "In the meantime however, we should stop by often. At least one of us, every day."

"We could do a..." Loren thought a moment. "A trial basis thing. If Dr. Mike doesn't seem to be getting any better in a month or so..."

"Then perhaps we might reconsider a sanitorium," Andrew finished.

Daniel couldn't believe the townspeople were all in support of Cal. It made him furious. "Cal ain't what ya think," he spoke loudly.

All eyes turned to him. "How do you know?" Dorothy questioned.

He scratched his head. "I...I just got a feelin', I guess."

"Anyone that can make Michaela smile is a friend of mine," Dorothy replied resolutely. "I hope she finds happiness with Cal, or at least finds happiness, and if that's not meant to be, why...we're no further behind."

The entire group nodded and murmured words of agreement.

"I don't believe this," Daniel muttered, departing without another word. He would show them. He would win Michaela's hand and..."make her smile". He was determined to be the one with the last laugh.

Michaela ran her gloved finger over the engraved letter 'S' on her husband's headstone. Byron Sully, it read. Beloved husband and father. 1839-1872. "You'd like him, Sully," she went on, Katie looking up at her solemnly, not quite understanding what was going on. "He's so caring, good with the children, and he makes me laugh, as much as I try not to. He understands me. He doesn't pressure me to forget you like everyone else seems to want. But is Daniel right?" she asked. "Is it improper? Might Cal...take advantage?" She paused, as if waiting for an answer. "I suppose you'd want me to be careful," she spoke. "I'll be careful, Sully. I promise." She glanced over at the gathering of her friends. "Well, I'm being made a spectacle of. We should probably go." She took Katie's hand. "Say bye-bye to Papa for now."

Katie peered at the cross curiously. "Bye," she whispered.

"Brynie says good-bye, as well," Michaela spoke for her son, holding him on her bent knee. "We'll come again soon. I love you, sweetheart," she murmured, kissing the cross. "Good-bye."

to be continued...


	6. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

"It came out of nowhere, Ma!" Brian went on, out of breath.

"That's for sure," Cal agreed.

Horrified by the frightening tale, Michaela led the men inside, helping them remove their knapsacks.

"Brian's a quick thinker," Cal said. "Got his gun and shot that bast--uh, snake...right between the eyes."

"Not before it bit you," Michaela remarked, noticing Cal clutching his upper arm. "You could've been killed."

Daniel nodded. "Sure could've," he agreed.

"I'd never let a rattler get the best of me," Cal replied, unfazed. "I took my knife, cut away at the bite and sucked the poison out. Simple as that."

Brian pulled from his knapsack the tail of the rattlesnake he had killed. "Here, Katie," he said, stooping to the child's level.

Katie beamed, overjoyed. "Pwesent!" she squealed.

"Just for you," Brian told her, shaking the rattle and then placing it in her hands.

"I knew this entire trip was a bad idea," Michaela insisted.

"So did I," Daniel added.

Brian stood up. "We brought home three rabbits, Ma. Can we have them for dinner?"

Michaela sighed.

Cal and Brian gave her pouting looks.

She crossed her arms. "Oh, for heaven's sake. If you skin them for me." Brian's face lit up. "In the barn," she added firmly.

"Daniel, wanna help?" Brian asked cheerfully.

"I...um," the sheriff sputtered, not fond of the idea of leaving Cal and Michaela alone. Then again, he thought it might score points with Michaela if he made an effort to do something with her son. "Yeah, I guess so," he agreed, following the boy out the door.

Michaela sat at the table and pulled a chair out for Cal. "I don't believe this," she murmured. "Cal, that snake could have just as easily bit Brian."

"It bit me," he reminded her, hand still clasped around his wound. He nodded at Katie, seated on the floor beside the fireplace, shaking her rattle and giggling with delight. "She sure looks glad we caught us a rattler."

Michaela glanced at her daughter. "I don't like her playing with that. It's filthy, it reeks...and it gives me the shivers."

Cal frowned teasingly. "You always this grumpy on a beautiful Sunday afternoon?"

She glared at him, offended. "I'm not grumpy. I'm...sensible."

He laughed. "Mike, no matter where ya go there's a chance you're gonna see a rattler. It just happened to be while Brian and I were on our hunting trip. The boy had a great time. Why don't ya give him a chance to tell ya that, and forget about this little scratch." He nodded at his wound.

Cal had a point, Michaela realized, irritated. "Well, let me take a look," she said quietly, rising to retrieve her medical bag from the mantle.

"It's fine," he insisted.

She sat down, unbuckling the clasps of her bag. "Let me see, Cal. Take off your shirt."

He reluctantly worked at his buttons. "Ya know, how can I be sure you're a real doctor? I mean, why should I trust ya to be poking at me? I'd like to see some credentials first." He pulled the shirt over his head, rumpled it into a ball, and tossed it on the table.

"I had to burn my medical degree." Michaela gingerly untied the bandana he had placed around the wound.

"Ya just sat down and burned it?" Cal uttered doubtfully. "No one's gonna believe that. You're gonna have to come up with something better," he advised. "How 'bout: I was lost in the woods, I was wandering in circles for days, looking for help. I tore up my medical degree into tiny pieces and made a trail, so's I wouldn't keep retracing my steps. A Hansel and Gretel thing. Try saying that instead."

"Oh, Cal. Look at this. It's infected." The wound was swollen, pink and oozing fluid. Michaela sifted through her bag for her carbolic acid and a cloth. "It's true," she told him. "I really had to burn it." Her face sobered at the memory.

"Why?" he asked, regretting his teasing.

"Some sort of fatal illness was infecting every patient my instruments touched. When my laundry maid succumbed, I realized whatever it was had to be on everything in the clinic." She tipped the carbolic acid bottle over the cloth, soaking it liberally. "So we cleared everything out and burned it."

"Everything?" Cal whispered.

She nodded. "That's why we had to take out the loan, so I could replace what I'd lost."

Cal bent his head. "Sorry," he said quietly.

"I've been meaning to contact the college I attended in Pennsylvania, explain what happened and ask if I might have another copy of my degree. It wouldn't be the same, though." She placed the cloth on his wound.

"Christ Almighty!" Cal screeched, drawing in his breath sharply.

"I forgot to tell you this might hurt," Michaela said quietly.

"&Might& hurt?" he breathed. "Good God."

She bandaged the wound carefully with clean cloths, her eyes traveling to his chest. He was muscular and broad, tan like Sully, with tight curls of dark, soft chest hair across his breast and running in a thin line down his belly. Michaela wanted to place her hand over his heart, to know what he felt like, if he was anything like Sully, and was furious with herself for contemplating such a thing. Cal caught her eye and they held each other's gaze for a brief moment. Michaela bent her head, so embarrassed she wanted to cry. Cal cleared his throat, looking away bashfully.

"How ya been the past few days?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Fine."

He cleared his throat once more. "How was...uh, Daniel?"

"Daniel? Oh, fine. It was very considerate of him to keep me company like he did. He drove us all to church this morning."

Cal lowered his head. "Yeah? Well...good," he said, convincing himself he meant it.

She felt his forehead. "You have a fever as well," she noted, determined to disguise her worry. "Why don't you go upstairs and lie down? I'll bring you some tea."

"I don't like tea all that much," he admitted.

"You'll drink it and you'll like it," she instructed. "It's willow bark. Indian medicine."

"Does it work?" he asked skeptically.

"If you want it to," Michaela told him with a grin.

He rose carefully from his chair, heading for the stairs. He paused at the base. "Mike, are you really all that mad?" he asked, turning around.

She thought about it a moment. "I...I'm glad you brought Brian home safe and sound."

"We missed you," he said.

She looked him in the eyes. "I missed you, too," she replied before she could think. "That is, I missed Brian," she stammered. "Well, you and Brian." She blushed furiously, covering her cheeks with her hands. They felt like fire.

"...I'll be waiting for that tea," he said with a smile, heading up the stairs.

She picked up his shirt, holding it out. "Your shirt," she murmured weakly, but he was gone.

& & &

Michaela knocked on Cal's door. "Cal, dinner," she called. No answer. She turned the knob. "Dinner's on the table, Cal."

He was under the covers, on his back, eyes squeezed shut. "Mike?" he murmured, voice dry.

"I'm right here," she assured him softly. Fretfully, she sat on the bed and placed her hand on his brow. It was smooth, damp, and burning hot. "Fever's worse," she noted.

"I cut the poison out," he murmured weakly, squinting at her.

"Shh," she told him. She rose, found a basin, pitcher and cloth, filled the basin, and came back to the bed, placing it on the night table. She soaked the cloth with water, folded it into a rectangle, and laid it across his forehead.

"Gosh that feels good," he muttered in satisfaction.

"Cal, you aren't being poisoned by the venom, but by an infection," she informed him. "The wound is infected. I don't suppose you cauterized the knife you used."

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"Cauterize," she repeated. "Heat the knife to sterilize it before use."

He shook his head. "No. Didn't think about the knife hurting me. Only the snake."

"Well, if you didn't act as quickly as you did that snake might have very well killed you," she admitted.

"What's this infection gonna do to me?" he asked fearfully. "You gonna cut off my arm?"

Her professional tone of voice vanished, replaced with sympathy and compassion. "No. Of course not."

"But ya said it's infected," he whispered. Infection meant amputation, as far as Cal knew.

She removed the cloth from his forehead, rinsed it, and returned it to his feverish skin. "Good thing I'm a doctor," she said with a small smile.

"Yeah," he whispered, grinning and closing his eyes.

Michaela paused. Cal had questioned, though perhaps only in jest, the fact that she was a doctor. What he said was true. For all he knew she might never have seen a scalpel. Just the same, he allowed her to examine his wound, believed her when she assured him amputation wouldn't be necessary, and was now resting, at ease, confident she would restore him to health.

Why? Michaela asked herself. Because he trusted her.

Michaela was ashamed. Just the day before she had asked herself if Cal Brooks might be a lie, if his intentions might not be all for the best. How could she have allowed Daniel to fill her head with such absurdities? Still, she found a part of herself holding back. She had never put her complete trust in any man but Sully. Now, to give that precious trust to Cal would be taking a step forward, but backward in a way--apart from the pain, from Sully--a step she was not sure she was ready to take.

& & &

Cal slowly opened his eyes, immediately conscious of a throbbing pain in his upper arm. He felt a cool cloth swiping tenderly across his brow, then his cheeks, then his neck. Michaela was sitting on the bed beside him, skin glowing a soft orange from the dimly lit lamp on the nightstand. He rubbed his eyes, struggling to focus. She remained blurry. An orange blur.

"Mike?" he croaked.

"I'm here," she replied.

"What time is it?" he asked.

"I'm not sure. After midnight at least," she whispered. Her voice was low, tender and warm. It felt good to his ears. She placed her hand beneath his neck, holding a cup of tea to his lips. "Try to swallow this," she instructed.

He took a few sips, then rested his head back against the damp pillow. "Michaela, I'm not feeling so good," he murmured, closing his eyes.

She bit her lip. "I'm going to need to cauterize the wound, Cal."

He drew in his breath, panicking. "Don't amputate, please."

"I'm doing everything I can," she assured him. "You must drink what I tell you to, rest as much as you can and try to lie still while I cauterize. Struggle and it will only be worse."

"Is it gonna hurt?" he asked anxiously.

She stroked his forehead. "Oh no, not at all," she teased, remembering words she had spoken to him before while in labor with Byron.

He smiled, recalling them as well. "I'm holding ya to that."

She took his hand and squeezed tight. "I'll be right here, Cal," she promised softly.

He sighed contently. "Good."

"Good," she whispered. "I'm going to wake Daniel, now. I'll need his help. I'll come right back."

"You'll be right back?" he asked, holding her hand even tighter.

"Yes," she said. "I won't leave you, Cal. I promise."

& & &

"I've written up to when we first started courting," Michaela whispered to Cal's unconscious form. "I'm writing in the form of letters, to Katie and Byron. You were right, it helped. I can't explain why, but it did...I want you to read it sometime, Cal, tell me what you think. I'm going to write more, once we've gotten you better. I still have our engagement to tell, and the wedding...and Katie." She caught Daniel out of the corner of her eye, heading down the hall.

Daniel entered the room, tiredly rubbing his eyes. "Maybe you should send for his family," he suggested, standing beside the bed.

Michaela leaned forward in her chair, continuing to observe her patient with drooping eyes. He'd been unconscious for two days, after passing out during the cauterizing procedure. "No," she told him simply.

Daniel put his hands on his hips. "I think ya should. He's hanging on by a thread, Michaela."

She glared at him. "He'll live," she said firmly.

Daniel felt guilt tighten his throat. True, he had wished Cal Brooks would just disappear, but he certainly hadn't meant for the poor boy to...leave in this way. "I shoulda stopped them from going on that huntin' trip. Shoulda put my foot down."

"It's no one's fault, Daniel," she murmured. "...All this time I was worried about Brian, if it was wise to leave him alone with Cal. Now it's Cal I must worry about."

Daniel stood behind her, resting a hand gently on her shoulder. "Why don't you go lie down?" he suggested.

She cringed, uncomfortable with his touch. "Daniel," she protested.

"Ya ain't slept since he first got sick," he pointed out, slowly massaging her.

She turned, shrugging his hand off. "Daniel, I've thought this over for some time and I'm certain that we ought to remain friends...only friends, Daniel."

"...You're sure?" he asked softly.

She shook her head. "I'm sorry. It's not you, truly. It's...I'm in mourning. I'm not interested in courting anyone."

"Not even Cal?" he challenged.

"No, not anyone," she said softly. "Cal's very sweet to me, but...I can't. If I led either of you to believe that...that I might be interested in something more than a friendship...then I'm sorry."

"Cal wants to court you," Daniel said soundly.

"Then when he's well again, he must leave," Michaela whispered.

& & &

Brian shook his mother's shoulder to wake her. "Ma?" he murmured. Michaela opened her eyes, yawning. "Hm?" She immediately looked at Cal, checking for any change. He remained unconscious, motionless.

"Miz Grace is waiting just inside," he told her, his school books slung over his shoulder. "She wants t' see ya."

She sighed. Grace had to be the fourth or fifth caller in the past few days. As much as she appreciated their good intentions, she had to admit the constant company was beginning to grow on her nerves, especially with Cal to look after, so deathly sick. She wanted to be with him every moment. She rose from her chair, stretching her arms in front of her. "All right, Brian. Thank you for telling me. Will you sit with Mr. Brooks until I return?"

"Sure," he agreed.

"Call me if-"

"If there's any change. I will," he promised.

Giving him a soft smile, she made her way down the stairs. Daniel was slouched in a chair in the sitting room, awkwardly cradling the baby who did not seem to want to fall asleep. Katie was before the fire, playing with a few rag dolls and of course the tail of the rattlesnake. Michaela winced each time the toddler shook her precious gift, and wasn't too far away from confiscating the repulsive thing forever, no matter how much Katie might protest.

Grace placed a pie pan covered with a cloth on the table and stepped forward to embrace Michaela. "So good to see ya, Dr. Mike," she said cheerily.

Wearily, Michaela hugged her back. All of her callers had greeted her in the same way. All with a kind word and a prolonged, tight hug. Of course it was nice to be embraced so warmly, but Michaela couldn't help raising her eyebrows. Why? she kept asking herself, though she was too abashed to ask.

Grace pulled the red-checked cloth away, revealing a warm, sweet-smelling blueberry pie. "Made it just for you," she announced. "I know apple is your favorite, but they're outta season, so it's blueberry. Hope you like it."

Michaela sniffed the treat. "Thank you, Grace. It smells tasty." She decided she might try a few bites later.

"Lotsa things taste good," Grace began casually. "Do you fancy anything special?"

Michaela raised her eyebrows again. "Well...I...why?" she finally questioned.

"I can make ya what you'd like," Grace explained. "Or at least try to," she chuckled.

"Grace, that's very kind, but really, don't trouble yourself."

"Or anytime you need, I can look after the children," she went on. "You only have to say the word, and there's lots of us here. We'd all love to help ya out."

Michaela closed her eyes. "I'll let you know," she sighed. She loved her friend dearly, but at the moment, she only wanted her to leave.

"How's Mr. Brooks?" Grace asked.

Michaela perked up. "Cal? He's unconscious."

"I've been prayin' for him," Grace told her, touching the cross that hung about her neck.

"Would you like to visit?" Michaela asked, eager to get back to Cal. "He seems to respond to voices, once in a while."

Grace agreed, and once at Cal's side again, Michaela felt much better.

to be continued...


	7. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

Michaela tenderly patted the sponge against Cal's fiery skin. She cooled his face, each arm--careful to avoid the bandages--and then his chest. He was muttering incoherently, his head bobbing from one side to the other. She talked to him softly, reassured him, and occasionally stroked back a stray hair.

She placed the sponge in the basin, then took hold of his shirt and began buttoning it. She had only buttoned up to his stomach when she paused, her eyes drawn to his panting chest. She studied it, was certain she could see his heart, beating hard against his ribs. Slowly, cautiously, she spread her hand across his breast.

Michaela's breath caught. He was so warm, so smooth, so perfectly shaped. His heart beat against her palm. The feel of it was comforting.

She closed her eyes, praying silently. Let him live. Please, just let him live.

Michaela didn't realize she had nodded off until she felt a warm, large hand move over hers, gently squeezing it. She snapped her head up, searching Cal's face: a soft flutter of his eyelids, a weary moan escaping his lips.

"Cal," she whispered pleadingly. She turned her hand, palm facing up, and threaded her fingers with his. He squeezed tighter. "Cal, wake up," she implored. "Please."

He squinted his eyes, a little sparkle of hazel met Michaela, and his lips curled into a smile. "Mike," he murmured.

She chuckled softly, relieved. "Cal. Oh, thank God."

"You...you were right," he croaked. "It...it didn't hurt...a bit."

She smiled, feeling his brow. Just a little while before, it seemed to be burning, but now she was certain he was much better. Probably a fever of only a hundred or so, that was sure to drop back to normal soon. "You're going to be fine," she assured him. "Here, try some water." She held a glass to his lips, and he placed his free hand around it weakly.

"Course I will be," he replied. "Always am." He took a few sips of the cool liquid, sighing as it slipped down his dry throat, then handed her the glass to return to the night table.

"You gave us all quite a scare, Cal Brooks," she scolded. She closed her eyes. "That's how Charlotte--Brian's mother--died...a rattlesnake bite," she whispered.

Cal was silent a moment. "...She left behind a pretty special gift."

She smiled. "Yes."

"...Thank you," he whispered, looking her in the eyes.

"Now we're even," she replied.

He held her hand even tighter. Michaela was painfully conscious of his grip, but she couldn't pull away. He needed her to be there. She wanted to be there. "You really are a doc," he murmured sleepily. "I'll be."

She smiled once more. "I'll be."

He squinted at her, rubbing his head. "Did ya...did ya think about it?" he asked.

She raised her eyebrows. "Did I...about what?"

"The dance," he whispered. "...Yes?"

Fear gripped Michaela's throat. Cal wants to court you, Daniel had said. Wasn't a Sweetheart's Dance how a couple began? She couldn't do it. "I'm sorry," she told him softly. "I can't."

He closed his eyes. "It's your time to dance, Mike."

She shook her head. "No, Cal. It's not," she whispered. She would have to tell him...ask him to leave before things got out of hand. As much as it might hurt to lose him...a friend, she decided it was better to part now...before their friendship evolved into something she wasn't prepared for. How to tell him, how to explain the reason he must leave without dying of embarrassment--she had no idea.

& & &

"So Dr. Mike, don't you worry one bit about your credit. You pay me back when ya can." Loren nodded certainly, cringing inside. Michaela hadn't paid off her store credit in at least six months. Just the same, he felt sorry for her, and was frightened for her when he heard about her bout with melancholia. She had become like a daughter to him, and he couldn't bear to see her in pain.

"Thank you so much, Loren, but really..." Michaela protested, hands clasped.

He waved his hand. "No, no. It's no trouble." He placed his hat back on his head. The entire visit was making him uncomfortable. He was afraid if he said the wrong thing...he might...he wasn't sure...maybe hurt her feelings, or make her cry--Preston had told him he'd said one little thing and suddenly Dr. Mike was bawling up a storm. Loren sure didn't want that. "Well, I best be goin'. Oh." He pulled out a small paper bag from his pocket, handing it to her. "These here are for Brian and Katie. And you can have some, too, Dr. Mike."

She opened the bag. "Gumdrops. That's very kind. I'm sure they'll enjoy them."

"Yep, well..." He awkwardly took a step closer to her, giving her a brief hug.

Here we go again, Michaela couldn't help but think. "It was very sweet of you to drop by," she said quickly as they parted. "Good-bye."

He looked her in the eyes a moment, as if searching for something. "All right, well. Afternoon, Dr. Mike."

She opened the door for him, then closed it behind him, leaning against it. She counted on her fingers. Dorothy, Reverend Johnson, Robert E., Miss Theresa, Grace. Following Grace, Jake and Andrew--no, first Andrew, then Jake, and now Loren. Eight callers in three days. It couldn't be a coincidence.

Be appreciative, Michaela scolded herself. Don't question a few friendly townsfolk with all the best intentions.

An explanation struck her. All of her friends had treated her with kind words, spoken to her softly as if she might break, lavished her with gifts, hugs, an occasional kiss on the cheek, assured her they missed her when she didn't make it to the clinic, told her how good it was to see her when she did. They think something's wrong with me, Michaela mused, troubled.

Ecstatic giggling from upstairs interrupted her thoughts. She lifted her skirts and ascended the stairs.

Cal was sitting up in bed, bouncing the baby on his lap, making braying sounds with his lips. Katie sat beside him, laughing at Byron's amusement. Michaela watched them for a moment, unseen, a small smile on her face.

"My turn!" the child begged, tugging on Cal's sleeve.

"You're next, Katie," Cal assured her.

"Cal, I thought I told you to keep that arm in your sling," Michaela spoke up, entering the room.

Cal bent his head, pausing his movements. "Uh-oh, Squirt. Mama caught us." Byron bounced himself on Cal's lap, eager for the game to continue.

Michaela sat on the bed and helped Cal guide his arm back into the starched cloth sling she had folded and tied for him the day before.

Katie crawled into Michaela lap, clasping her hands around her neck. "Mama, we's playin' horsey."

"Yes, I see," Michaela replied. She opened the bag and gave her a red gumdrop. "From Mr. Bray, sweetheart. Next time we see him you'll have to thank him."

Katie's eyes lit up as she bit into the tasty treat. She dug her hand into the bag.

"No, no," Michaela said, pulling her hand away. "One's enough for now. You'll spoil your dinner."

Katie shook her head. "For Mista Book."

"...Oh," Michaela murmured, releasing Katie's hand.

Cal smiled as Katie gave him a gumdrop. "Not bad," he said, chewing and winking at Michaela. Byron continued to bounce on his lap, moaning rhythmically each time he went up and down. "Well, seeing as I can't be the horse just now," Cal began, lifting the baby with one arm, "I'll turn ya over to your mama." He placed Byron in Michaela's lap, next to his sister.

Michaela put both her arms around her children. "I want you to rest, Cal."

"I am resting," he argued.

"No you're not," Michaela insisted.

"Yes I am," he shot back stubbornly.

"Play horsey," Katie instructed, patting Cal's thigh.

Cal rubbed her arm. "I can't now, Katie, but your mama can."

Michaela raised her brows. "Cal-"

"Just bounce your knees up and down," Cal told her. "They love it."

Tentatively, Michaela raised her legs on tiptoes, then placed them back down.

"'Gain!" Katie giggled. "Faster!"

Michaela chuckled, bouncing the children on her knees--Cal providing the brays of a team of horses--as Katie and Byron laughed with glee and held on. Out of breath after a few minutes, Michaela stilled, hugging her children to her. They giggled and buried their heads against her shoulders, at ease with their mother's arms wrapped warmly around them. Tears glistened in her eyes. She kissed Katie's fair locks, then Byron's golden brown curls. "I love you," she whispered to each in turn, rocking them tenderly. "I'll always be here for you, my darlings." She glanced at Cal.

"Ya have sweet kids, Michaela," he told her, grinning. "They love ya, too."

Michaela nodded tearfully, taking a deep breath. You've done so much for me, you've allowed me to see how much I have, you've turned my life around, she wanted to tell him, but when she tried, all she could murmur was, "Thank you. Thank you, Cal."

He shook his head. "You made the decision, Michaela," he reminded her.

"You helped me see what was right," Michaela replied. "Living for my children...that's what's right."

He nodded. "I think they agree," Cal said, smiling and nodding at Katie and Byron, curled up in Michaela's laps, four little hands gripping her blouse devotedly.

& & &

Michaela rubbed her temples, calculating a few figures with her pencil at the kitchen table. She heard the quick padding of feet descending the stairs. Cal jumped from the third to last step to the floor like a schoolboy, then entered the kitchen.

"Mike," he called in a whisper. "I wondered if that was you. Saw a light."

She tapped the ends of the few sheets of paper with her fingers, straightening them. "I'm sorry if I disturbed you. I lost track of the time I suppose."

"Nope, it was my stomach." He opened the icebox, squatting before it. "I'm getting tired of broth and tea. I'm ready for some real food." He wore only his button down shirt as a nightshift, and Michaela averted her eyes modestly as the tails crept up as he bent, exposing his thighs. "You want anything?"

She concentrated on the paper before her, determined not to watch him. "No, thank you. Glad to hear your appetite's back. That's a good sign. There's some cold meat in there I think."

"Yep, here it is. Thanks." He pulled out a platter with a few chicken legs and other scraps, placing it on the table next to her, then poured himself a glass of milk. He pulled out the chair beside her and sat. "What ya doing here? Writing more memories?" He bit into a leg, peering at the paper.

"No. Figuring," she told him.

"Figuring what?" he persisted curiously.

"Never mind, Cal," she whispered, gathering her papers and pencil. "It's nothing you need to be concerned about."

He raised his eyebrows, all the more intrigued. "Now you know that's only gonna make me concerned. You can tell me, Mike. Is it some secret plan? Maybe how to sneak into one of those big universities and forge yourself a medical degree so people think you're a real doc?"

She shook her head. "No. Please don't joke. It's about--about the loan if you must know. I think I'll go up to bed now. Remember to snuff the lamps when you're through." She pulled out her chair.

He took hold of her arm, stilling her. "Let me take a look-see. I was gonna be a banker, remember? Maybe I can help."

Reluctantly, she allowed him to turn the papers in his direction so he could read them. "Ah-huh...ah-huh," he murmured as he skimmed the numbers. He finally looked up at her. "What do you think you're doing here, Michaela?" he questioned directly.

She placed her elbows on the table. "It's quite obvious I think."

"Right. Ya gotta a list of stuff, and then values for them."

She nodded, averting her eyes. "That's correct. Oh, I just remembered, Sully...Sully has a suit he hardly wore. It might fetch ten, perhaps twenty dollars. And I have good china I only put out two or three times a year. We could get along without that." She took the pencil and quickly wrote: wool suit, $10?, used china, $35?

He scratched his head, looking over the list. "Ya got paintings here, a pocket watch, jewelry, a cradle? You fixing on selling these?"

She nodded firmly. "Next week, or perhaps the week after I'll ride the train to Denver. I'll take the baby with me of course. There's a pawnshop there--I remember seeing it--and I've heard the owner's a fair man. He had everything in his window from violins to spinning wheels."

"And you're going to use what you can get to pay off your loan," Cal speculated.

"Yes," she whispered. "It's all I can think to do, Cal. If I began now and worked day and night at the clinic, I still wouldn't be able to give Preston the money in time, and even if I could, there would be yet another new payment looming each month. Preston's been generous enough as it is, giving me this extension. How can I ask him for even more time? And my mother, she lent me so much money when I first bought the clinic, I just couldn't ask her for more."

He took her hand. "Don't worry about it."

"Cal, how can you say that?" she breathed. She looked about her at the sturdy, protective walls, windows, and fireplace. She could still see Sully's strong, able hands carefully crafting and molding every inch of the homestead. She remembered seeing his plans for it for the first time, watching them become reality, being carried across the threshold, sharing their most intimate, wonderful moments in the privacy of their bedroom, conceiving a child, then bringing her home. Home. Of all the material possessions she had left of Sully, their home meant the most. It would be too much to leave behind. "Cal, don't you understand? Preston's going to foreclose!" Tears suddenly burst forth, streaming down her cheeks. "Sully built these walls for me...and now I'm losing him."

"Please don't cry," he whispered, swiping away a fat tear with his finger. "Mike, I didn't wanna tell you this."

She sniffled. "Tell me what?"

He sighed. "I paid off this month's payment, and I'll take care of the rest of the loan if ya need it."

She drew in her breath. "Cal...but Preston gave me another month."

"I didn't want you to know," he insisted. "Once you paid him he was gonna give me the money."

She eyed him in disbelief. Cal drove stagecoaches. "Where did you get that kind of money?" she asked.

"My pa left me a little when he died."

She shook her head. "No, Cal. You shouldn't have done that. I didn't ask you to, I didn't mean to imply I expected you to."

"It's all right," he insisted. "I was happy to help."

"My husband wouldn't like this," she said. "Daniel tried to give us money for a payment once, and it made Sully just furious."

He narrowed his brows. "Sully's dead, Michaela."

Her lip quivered. "Stop it."

"No, I won't." He gripped her hand hard. "Maybe you should start thinking for yourself. Maybe think about what Michaela likes, what she wants."

His words struck her hard. She bent her head. "You know the one thing I want, Cal."

"Well, you can't have that," he told her, raising his voice. He gripped her shoulders. "So are you gonna sit there and cry about it for the rest of your life, or are you gonna try and get back on your feet? Make a choice, Mike."

"It's hard," she murmured. "It's so hard."

He tilted her head up, looking her in the eyes. "I know it's hard, but you're doing it, little by little." He smiled. "I'm so proud of you. You held that meeting with your friends, and went out to dinner, and when I got bit by that snake, you sat with me for two days, didn't ya? You didn't think about lying in bed and crying and sleeping."

She shook her head. "I wanted to be here when you woke up."

"You were. Ya took good care of me. You've come so far. Don't stop now. Let me pay off your loan. You pay me back when ya got the money, all right? It ain't charity."

She thought over his words for some time, then finally nodded reluctantly. "I will pay you back."

"Course you will," he replied. "Just don't sell all these wonderful things, all right?"

"I don't need them," she told him. "I never use the china, and I don't need Byron's cradle. I'm not having another baby."

"Well then, we'll have to have a special occasion to use that china. I'd like to see it. And the cradle...you never know, maybe someday you might need it."

She shook her head, then stopped. "Sully made it, before Katie was born. Maybe someday I could give it to her, when she expects a baby of her own."

He grinned. "That sounds like a good idea." He finished off his chicken leg.

"I don't believe it, Cal. I was going to pawn the cradle Sully made for his child," she whispered. "How can I ever thank you?"

He averted his eyes. "Thank me by...by doing your friend a favor and going to the dance with him. I'm gonna look pretty foolish reeling out there all by myself."

"Cal...I..."

"Please don't make me beg," he teased.

A small grin escaped her lips. "Couldn't I just...bake you a batch of cookies instead?"

He chuckled. "How 'bout we do both? Bake cookies, and dance?"

She sighed, pondering it. "...All right...but...but if I get tired at the dance..."

"Four dances," he bargained. "Four, then we can leave if you're tired."

"No dances. Let's just sit," she returned.

"Three," he said quickly.

"One."

"Two," he compromised.

"One and a half," she chuckled.

He narrowed his eyebrows.

"Oh, all right," she agreed. "Two dances. Two."

"Two dances with Michaela Sully, my good friend," he whispered, taking her hand. "It's an honor." He stood up, fluttered his eyelashes and bowed so low the blood rushed to his head, then stood back up. "Goodnight, Michaela."

She chuckled. "Goodnight, Cal."

to be continued...


	8. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

"There's a certain kinda man that's good for a certain kind of woman, Calvin," Daniel said, raking out a stall.

"Yeah?" Cal tossed hay over his shoulder with the rake, cleaning the adjoining stall. "What do you mean, exactly?"

"Well, women with children, see, like to find themselves a nice, stable, hardworking man who can support 'em all."

Cal scratched his head. "Do you like Mike's children, Daniel?"

Daniel hesitated. "Well, sure, sure. But you're missin' the point here. She's gotta put Brian through college, and maybe Katie and Byron, if they're anything like their mother."

"College costs a lotta money," Cal murmured more to himself. He wondered how Michaela was going to do it. He wished he had enough money to pay off her every last desire. He bit his lip. "Michaela...is she real smart?"

Daniel shrugged. "I guess so. She's a doctor."

"Her family musta had money, putting her through medical school," Cal speculated. He recalled Michaela mentioning something about not asking her mother for money again.

Daniel nodded. "Yep. Spare no expense. Servants crawling all over the house, cooks, piano lessons, dancing, the best schools, even college for Michaela."

Cal chuckled to himself. "I know what that's like. Then she's good at dancing? Likes it and all?"

Daniel raised his brows. "Sure. Why do you ask?"

Cal smiled. "I'm taking her to the Sweetheart's Dance."

"You're what?" Daniel blurted.

Cal smiled wider. "Michaela and I--we're going to the dance," he said proudly.

Daniel put down the rake. The idea that Mike had accepted Cal's offer over his was exasperating. He couldn't believe it. "You asked and she said yes?" he questioned.

"After a little arguing, yeah," Cal chuckled.

"It's a mistake," Daniel muttered. "I warned her. I'm telling you, this is bad news."

"Yeah, getting Mike out of the house has gotta be the worst thing anyone could do," Cal retorted bitterly. "Doing a little dancing, a little exercise...a little fun--even worse! Gosh, who would dream of even suggesting such a thing?"

Daniel narrowed his brows, coming to Cal's stall. "Now you listen here, Calvin," he began sharply. "Michaela means a lot to me. She's my best friend's wife. Sully'd want me to look after her. Michaela hardly knows ya, Calvin, like it or not. She don't need to get involved with somebody who up and quits his job--if ya wanna even call it a job--moves in here and takes over without so much as askin', and starts takin' advantage of her in the state she's in, draggin' her all over the place and askin' her to dances when it just makes her upset. Ya got her talkin', yeah, but talkin' craziness 'bout killin' herself! Michaela deserves better."

Stunned, Cal drew in his breath. "Daniel...I'm just trying to help. I'm just trying to help her..."

"Well, we don't need your-"

Brian cleared his throat. Cal and Daniel noticed him standing before them.

"Um, Mr. Brooks...Daniel," he said softly. "Um, something's wrong with Ma."

"What's the matter?" Cal immediately replied, putting down his rake.

Brian shrugged. "I don't know. Miss Dorothy and Miss Grace dropped by again, and they left after about half an hour, and then ma said she was goin' upstairs to soak in the tub."

"Yeah?" Daniel encouraged.

Brian headed out of the barn and to the house, the men following. "And then I was in my room readin', and I heard her cryin'. She told me she was fine when I called to her, but..." He paused at the base of the stairs, turning to Cal. "I'm worried, Mr. Brooks."

Cal patted his back. "We'll check on her, son."

Brian smiled appreciatively. "Thanks."

"Just a minute," Daniel called as Cal headed briskly up the porch stairs and inside. He grabbed Cal's arm. "What do you think you're doing?"

Cal shook himself free and made for the stairs. "Gonna check on her, like I said."

Daniel's mouth dropped open in shock. "You can't go up there. You heard the boy. She's bathin'!"

"She could be hurt!" Cal shouted back, not caring what Daniel thought. He knocked on the door. "Mike?"

Michaela sniffled. "Don't come near!" she called.

He opened the door. "What's the matter?" he asked disquietedly, turning around and taking one backward step into the room.

Michaela crossed her arms modestly. "Go away. I...I don't trust you," she said dubiously, sinking lower into the water.

Cal was hurt. "Michaela, you're worrying me," he assured her, swallowing hard. "Brian says you were crying. Let me help."

She swiped at her nose. "I don't want anyone's help."

He approached the tub, continuing to face the door. "Please. Please tell me."

"They...They keep coming," she murmured.

"Who?" Cal asked. "Who keeps coming?"

"My friends...They come each day. They treat me differently. They speak slowly, tell me how wonderful everything is, treat me as if I'm going to explode at any minute."

Cal scratched his head. "Why would they...?"

"Somehow they know about..." She broke down. "They all think I've gone mad."

"Oh, Mike. No one thinks that," he disputed.

"Yes they do," she insisted. "You...you told them about--about the laudanum," she accused. "Cal, that was no one's business. I trusted you!"

He drew in his breath. "I didn't...Oh, no. Mike, I only told Daniel. Oh, gosh. Only 'cause I wanted him to be with ya all the time while Brian and I were gone hunting. He wanted to know why so I told him. He musta said something to your friends."

"That's why he stayed with me while you were on the hunting trip?"

"He only wanted to help, Mike, I'm sure. I'm sorry. I shouldnta said something but...but I couldn't help it. I wanted you to be...to be safe while we were gone."

She shook her head despairingly. "I'm tired of being visited as if I'm sick, or as if I'm a child who needs constant attention, as if I'm not normal."

Cal turned his head slowly to the side, gazing at her out of the corner of his eye. "Ya gotta get better then," he whispered slowly.

"I'm trying," she said, bursting into sobs. "I don't know what else to do."

He knelt down, his hand touching her bare shoulder.

She shook. "Go away," she pouted. "This isn't proper."

He squeezed her shoulder gently, and she didn't make any movement to shrug him off. "Michaela, we're friends. How can that be wrong? Tell me you don't trust me, that you think I might do something improper, and I'll leave right now."

She couldn't answer him, because deep down, she trusted Cal with the world.

Cal gazed at her hair, pinned up in a loose bun to keep it dry. It was beautiful, but it had been neglected. "Ya want your friends to stop bothering ya, treating you like a child? First thing ya gotta do, is show them ya care about yourself."

"What's that supposed to mean?" She pursed her lips.

He placed both hands on her shoulders and applied gentle pressure. "Get lower in the water."

She couldn't successfully resist against his strong force. "Cal," she protested.

He found the end of a pin and pulled it with two fingers, sending a cascade of auburn hair into the water.

"What are you doing?" Michaela demanded. "Cal, stop that. No, I don't want to get it wet."

"Too late," he teased. "Tip your head back," he instructed, "and relax," he soothed, easing her head into the water.

She stared up at the ceiling, refusing to meet his eyes.

"Ya got pretty hair," he said.

Partially deafened with her ears beneath the water, Michaela gazed at him curiously. "What?"

He guided her head out of the water. "I said your hair's pretty. Pass the soap."

Blushing, she nodded at her vanity. "The blue bottle is shampoo."

"Ooo, shampoo," he crooned, fetching it. "Well, I'm back in London again." He tilted the bottle and poured a small amount of the thick substance into his palm.

"You've been to London?" she asked, surprised.

He nodded, placing the dollop of shampoo on the crown of her head, then taking his fingers and massaging it through her damp hair. "Went to boarding school there," he said, not elaborating.

"Boarding school?" she echoed in disbelief.

"Yep," he replied.

She closed her eyes. She would have never thought Cal's fingers so tenderly working through her hair would be so...so...she couldn't put it into words. Pleasant, she finally decided. Feeling her hair clean and fresh again was a pleasure in itself. When she thought about it, she couldn't remember the last time she had washed her hair, and was ashamed. "What's London like?" she asked, voice hoarse.

He smiled. "Huge, fast, with a big ole castle right in the middle of it."

"The Tower of London?" she queried, recalling European history from her school days.

"That's the one." He lifted her hair, stealing a glimpse of her neck. "Queen got her head chopped off there," he told her. He'd never seen a prettier neck. He ran his finger down it. It felt nice, too.

"I'd like to go there," she said dreamily.

"I'd take you," he said, "if I had the money."

She opened her eyes. "Sully's parents were from England. He was born on a ship bound for New York City. He talked of one day saving enough to visit the land of his parent's birth."

"I'll never have that kind of money," Cal murmured, disappointed. "Maybe I shoulda used what I learned in school. I mighta gotten a better job."

"It's more important to enjoy what you do, Cal," she pointed out. "What's the use having enough money for traveling to Europe and other exorbitant things if you dread going to work each morning?"

He smiled. "You're right. Well, I don't think you'd like London anyways." He cleared his throat, assuming a heavy British accent. "You can't understand a bloody word anyone's saying!"

She giggled. "I suppose I'd rather stay in Colorado then."

"Were you born here?" Cal asked.

"Oh, no. In Boston," she told him.

"What day?" Cal asked, his fingers slowing their pace.

"Why?" she asked softly.

He bent his head. "...So I know when to wish ya a Happy Birthday." He wanted to be sure not to miss it.

"When were you born?" she asked. "You tell me first."

"February fifteenth," he replied. "Right smack-dab in the dead of winter."

Her eyes widened. "The fifteenth...of February?"

He raised one eyebrow, perplexed by her tone of doubt. "Yeah, that's what I said. When's yours?"

She chuckled. "The same! February fifteenth."

Cal guided her head into the water to rinse it. "Well, I'll be! What are the odds of that?"

She looked upward at him. "You're not teasing? You didn't find out from someone when my birthday is?"

He laughed. "Not this time, Michaela. Cross my heart. Don't this beat all? I guess I won't have to worry about forgetting your birthday ever, hm?"

That had to mean something, sharing the same birthday. Cal was right. What were the odds? Michaela averted her eyes. He talked of remembering her birthday. She wondered if perhaps, that meant he intended to stay.

"I feel better," she whispered, closing her eyes.

"You look better," he said carefully, "with your hair all fresh and clean. You're even prettier, Mike."

"Do you really think I'm pretty?" she asked softly.

"No," he replied.

She turned her head to the side, looking at him out of the corner of her eye. "You don't?"

"You aren't pretty in the least way," he said seriously. "You're beautiful."

She smiled shyly. "No one's told me that in a long while."

He swallowed, wanting to be tactful. "Sometimes, when we're sad, we're gonna look sad, tired, even just plain horrible. But if ya try to smile, try to feel a little happiness, it shows. Ya look bright, cheerful, people stop feeling sorry for ya."

"You're saying you want me to put on an act?" she questioned, put out.

"No, I'm saying if ya look the part, you might just feel the part." He glanced across the room at her wardrobe. "How long's it been, Mike? Fifteen, sixteen months? Well over a year. Have ya thought of maybe...maybe putting on normal clothes again?"

She drew in her breath. "Stop mourning?"

"It don't mean you forget Sully, it don't mean ya don't miss him...I'm sure he'd want ya to look your best...feel your best again. He wouldn't hold it against ya if ya decided to put on something a little more cheerful."

"I don't know if I'm ready for that," she admitted.

"Sometimes, Mike, ya gotta take a deep breath and do it. It's gonna get harder and harder to get out of this--this sadness--if you don't start making an effort now." He ran his fingers slowly down her shoulder, tracing a path to her elbow and back again.

Michaela shivered, struck by what was happening. She was completely naked just below the soap bubbles concealing her body. A man she had only known for a few weeks was living with her, washing her hair, and she was enjoying it. It was wrong. Terribly, utterly wrong.

"I can finish, Cal," she whispered rigidly.

He withdrew his hand. "Michaela..."

"I appreciate all your help, but Daniel's right. This isn't proper. It might be best if...if at the end of this week, when the month is over...if we said good-bye."

"Mike, we didn't do anything wrong," he pleaded. "Getting better, feeling good about yourself...there's nothing wrong with that! I don't understand why Daniel thinks I...I ain't good for ya!"

"We can visit each other," she said weakly, "but we can't live under the same roof. Never again." Her feelings for Cal were real and more frightening than anything she had ever experienced. She needed him to go away, and soon.

"You want me to leave," he whispered.

She closed her eyes. "No...no, it's just..." She put her hand to her head, rubbing her temples. "I don't know."

He cleared his throat. "We still going to the dance tomorrow?"

She drew in her breath. "...I...I suppose."

He stood up. "All right. I'll...I'll stay at the Nugget tonight...I guess. I'll come by tomorrow night...to pick ya up."

She felt hot tears stinging her eyes. "Cal...I'm sorry."

"No...no, Mike. You're right. This ain't right." Silently, he walked out of the room, shutting the door.

"Cal," Michaela called softly, but he was gone.

& & &

"I agreed to go to the dance with him," Michaela said to Dorothy as her friend helped her roll bandages.

Dorothy smiled. "And?"

Michaela sighed. "I don't know if it's such a good idea. I don't think I can go through with it."

"Why's that?" Dorothy asked, putting down her work.

"Well..." Michaela began. "Dorothy, what if Cal expects something from me?"

"What if he just wants to be your friend?" Dorothy suggested.

"Daniel says he wants more than that," she replied.

"Do you think he has feelings for you?" Dorothy said directly.

Michaela hesitated. "...I'm not certain."

"How about you?" Dorothy went on, searching her friend's eyes. "How do you feel?"

"Well, I watch him with my children...and I find myself in tears. They need someone like him so much."

"But yourself?" Dorothy persisted.

Michaela felt a grin tugging at the corners of her lips. "When we're together...one minute he'll make me furious...the next he'll have me laughing and smiling. It's...unsettling."

"Why's it unsettlin', Michaela?" questioned her friend.

"Because I'm not supposed to feel this way," Michaela asserted.

Dorothy grinned, patting her hand. "Michaela, it's natural to feel somethin' for a man, to need to love someone and be loved back, even if that's not what you think you want. You're not bein' unfaithful and ya aren't betraying Sully. Now I've met Cal, and I've listened to what you've told me about him. I know Sully would like him."

"You think so?" Michaela asked softly.

"I do. And I also think...goin' to the Sweetheart's Dance doesn't mean you're gettin' married." She chuckled.

Michaela smiled nervously. "No, I suppose not." She gave her friend a hug. "Thank you, Dorothy. And...thank you for dropping by the other day. It's very kind of all of you to be so concerned for me." She realized the townspeople only wanted to help, and she couldn't hold that against them.

"You're looking much better, Michaela," Dorothy replied. Though her friend continued to dress in black, she didn't seem as thin, her cheeks had gained a little color, her skin looked healthier, her hair shinier...and she smiled--often. Dorothy took her hand. "Your friendship with Cal--even if it never grows into something more--has only been good for you."

"And if it does grow into something more?" Michaela challenged.

Dorothy smiled.. "Well...then you'll cross that bridge-"

"When I come to it," Michaela finished in a whisper.

to be continued...


	9. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

Cal straightened his black bow tie one last time, ran his hand over his slicked back locks, then knocked firmly on the door.

When it opened, he bowed cordially, holding out the flowers. "Good evening, Mich-" He rose. "Daniel?"

"Yeah, I'm looking after the kids tonight...Come in I guess," Daniel replied.

Cal felt sorry for Daniel. He hadn't ever meant to hurt him, but he didn't understand why the sheriff thought what he was doing for Michaela wasn't good for her. "Mike ready yet?" he asked.

"Not yet. She's upstairs."

"I'll go tell her I'm here," Cal said, and before Daniel could protest, he had disappeared up to her room.

Michaela was before her vanity, staring at her reflection, cheeks damp with tears.

Cal immediately came to her side. "Mike?" He rested his hand on her shoulder. He had never seen her in anything other than white cotton nightshifts or black mourning garb. Tonight she was dressed in a lacy light green gown, her hair drawn up and pinned at the sides with little pastel green flowers that appeared to be real. She was breathtaking. "...You look like a princess," he murmured. He gave her the bouquet of red roses. "Here."

She forced a smile. "Thank you." She placed them on her vanity, then turned in her chair to him. "Cal..." He was impressive in his perfectly fitted black suit coat and vest, white button down shirt, and matching shoes. He was clean shaven, had washed with a scented soap, and even his hair was slicked back behind his ears, not one lock out of place. She pictured twirling around with him on the dance floor, grinning, laughing, having a wonderful time...

"Ready to go?" he asked.

Her lip quivered. "Cal, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry...Oh my goodness, you look so handsome. You went to all this trouble..."

"What?" His heart beat fast.

A tear slipped down her cheek, smearing her newly applied rouge. "I...I don't think I can do this. I'm sorry. I thought I'd be able to...but I can't."

His throat grew thick with disappointment. "Why not?"

She fingered the lace at her collar. "If I went...it would be like..."

"Like what?" he encouraged. "You can tell me." He knelt beside her.

She sobbed. "...Like leaving Sully behind. Dressing in this bright color and dancing without him and having fun. I can't do it."

"Michaela, we're friends," he assured her. "There's nothing wrong with having a good time."

She shook her head. "I've come to realize...we're not just friends, Cal."

"That's never what I intended. Ya gotta believe me. I only wanted to help. Forgive me for not stopping as soon as I realized we were getting closer than you wanted."

She picked up her handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. "No, forgive me. Please don't make me go."

He couldn't possibly make her now. "Oh, of course I understand." He took her in his arms, rubbing her back. Be patient, he told himself. "You're not ready yet. There's nothing wrong with that."

"I just want to get back in my nightgown and go to bed," she choked, clutching the lapels on his suit. "I don't want to dance. I wish I did."

"Shhh...I know." He kissed her forehead. "That's all right."

"You go and have a good time," she told him, sniffling. "Don't let me spoil anything."

"No, I'll stay right here with you," he promised. "'Sides, I didn't really want to go to that silly dance anyway."

She chuckled sadly, then wept some more.

"What's going on?" Daniel demanded, appearing in the door. He noticed Michaela's tears. "What did you do to her?"

"Daniel, don't," Michaela assured him, clutching her hankie. "I'm fine."

"What did he say?" Daniel persisted. "Why are you upset?"

"We decided not to go, that's all," Cal spoke up.

"Oh...well, good," Daniel replied. "We can all have a nice, quiet evening at home."

"Precisely," Michaela agreed.

Cal nodded, lowering his eyes. As much as he wanted to abide by Michaela's wishes, he couldn't help but be terribly hurt and disappointed by her last minute refusal to accompany him to the dance. "Uh, I think I'm going to get some air," he spoke up.

"Me, too," Daniel said, following Cal down the stairs and out to the porch.

"Listen, Calvin-" Daniel began, shutting the front door behind him.

"It's just Cal," he interrupted, hands on his hips.

"Right," Daniel replied uncaringly. "Michaela...I...well, I don't think it's good for her, you comin' here and seein' her all the time, forcing her to attend dances and socials and such."

Cal scratched his head. "What are you talking about, Sheriff?"

Daniel removed his hat. "Ya don't have to pretend. I've seen ya around her. You ain't the kinda man she needs."

"I don't understand what ya mean," Cal insisted.

"What she needs is someone capable of providin' for her and the kids. Someone more like Sully. Patient, quiet, strong. Someone who knew her before all this happened."

Cal was hurt. "You think this is what this is about? You think the only reason I'm here is to get me a wife?"

Daniel cleared his throat. "I don't know why you're hear, but I want ya t' leave. Ya've done enough." He put his hands on his hips. "I'm taking care of Michaela just fine. Someday, when she's ready, she'll see it's best we married. I'm what she needs, Calvin. I'm what's best for her."

"We were going to the dance," Cal murmured.

Daniel sighed. "Michaela wants ya to leave. She told me so. Said she thinks it's best."

"She did say a little something about it," Cal admitted. He felt tears stinging his eyes. "If it's because she thinks I might try something...Daniel, I ain't...I ain't tryin' to court her. I'm trying to help Michaela move on with her life. I'm trying to help her get out of bed and smile again!" He ran his fingers through his hair.

Daniel glared at him. "I promised Sully I'd take care of his family if ever somethin' were to happen! He never said a damn word about no Cal Brooks! Now he's gone, and it's my duty to speak for him, protect his wife!"

Cal swallowed hard. "Yeah, your duty to stand by while Michaela wastes away. Daniel, don't you see? She's dying up in that room--dying of a broken heart...or she was, 'til someone gave her a little push and got her outta there."

"Oh, and that would be you," Daniel retorted resentfully.

"Don't see anyone else stepping in and taking charge," Cal replied. "Don't see anyone else that seems to want her to get better!"

"That wants a wife," Daniel insisted.

"That ain't true!" Cal shouted. "All I want is the best for a good friend I happened to meet by chance. Don't you know what might have happened if something hadn't told me to go back there to that stagecoach and make sure--make sure they weren't all dead?"

Daniel stood up. "Well, thank you, Mr. Brooks, for not abandoning a helpless pregnant woman and doing what any decent man would do," he said sarcastically. "Now I think--and so does Michaela--that what's &best& is for you to leave."

Cal stared at him for a long moment, breathing heavily, sweat breaking out at his hairline. "All right. All right, I see, Sheriff. I didn't come here to cause trouble. I won't come between you and your intentions." He stormed down the porch stairs, holding his hat on his head. "Go ahead! Marry her!" He climbed into his wagon. "But make her happy! You sure as hell better make her happy!"

Daniel hadn't expected Cal to leave so easily. He felt a sharp pang of guilt. "Wait," he called weakly. "At least...at least say good-bye!"

"Good-bye!" Cal shouted forcefully, slapping his horse with the reins firmly and taking off.

& & &

Daniel entered Michaela's room, not sure how he was going to tell her. "He's…he's gone," he finally murmured.

Michaela stood from her hunched position over the basin, where she had been scrubbing at the rouge on her cheeks. She looked at Daniel's mirror reflection. "Who?"

He stood behind her. "Calvin. He took off."

She patted her face dry with a towel, feeling her throat tighten. "Where...where did he go?"

He shrugged. "Got no idea, but far as I know he's gone for good."

Stunned, she made her way to the bed, sitting down. Daniel immediately sat beside her. "Look Michaela, I never trusted the guy. We both know this is for the best. Maybe he meant well but…but he just wasn't good news."

She choked up. "Did he say anything? Did he say why he left? Was it because...of what I said?"

Daniel rubbed the back of his head. "Well, he didn't say much. Maybe he got tired of waiting for what you weren't gonna give him. Typical."

"No." She sniffled as a few tears slipped down her cheeks. "He told me that's not what he intended."

He shrugged. "Michaela, why don't you forget about him?" He put his arm around her waist, shifting closer. "Think about what Sully would've wanted for you an' the kids, think about who's gonna be here for the long run, who can take care of ya." He swiped at her tears with one index finger. "...You're so beautiful."

"Don't touch me." Just minutes before, she had allowed Cal to hold her, dry her eyes, even kiss her forehead. It felt so different with Daniel. He was so different from Cal. She pushed his arm off, stood up and walked briskly to her mirror. She tugged roughly at the flowers in her hair, pulling them out one by one and slamming each on her vanity. "He told me that's not what he intended," she insisted.

"Well, Michaela, of course he's gonna tell ya what ya wanna hear," Daniel replied, hands on his hips.

"Go away," she whimpered.

"Michaela-" he began.

"Daniel...I can't do this anymore. I can't allow myself to grow fond of someone. I was engaged to David, and then he made me think he was dead. I married Sully, and he..." She yanked another flower out. "He died. And now I allowed myself to befriend someone whom I can't make happy. I couldn't make anyone happy now."

"Sure ya can. You make me happy, Michaela. I know ya can love again. I know ya can," he said, coming to her side. "Won't ya give us a chance? Won't ya give anybody a chance?"

She shook her head, tears flowing freely. "I will not put myself through this pain any longer."

"I give up, Michaela," he said, throwing his hands in the air. "I just give up."

"So do I." She spun around, looking him in the eyes. "You're wrong. I'll never love another man again, Daniel. Never."

He shook his head. "So what're ya gonna do now? Might as well become a nun!" His cheeks flushed with frustration. Michaela wasn't going to marry him. He had known that for some time. It seemed as if everything he couldn't have he wanted the most.

She took a deep breath. She wouldn't marry again, but her life wasn't without purpose. She had confidence it would be full and rich. As long as she had Brian, Katie, and little Byron...she could be happy. "I'm going to raise my children, Daniel. That's what I'm going to do. First and foremost, that's what their father would want."

& & &

Brian awoke as the sun was rising to the cries of his baby brother. He yawned, stretched his arms, and got out of bed, staggering across his room and into the hall. He smiled to himself as he thought back to last night. He'd had a wonderful time with Sarah Sheehan. She had looked so pretty with her lilac purple calico dress, her golden hair curled and pinned high up on her head, just like a grown-up lady. They'd danced, talked, snacked on punch and pastries, and even shared a little goodnight kiss. He was so glad Cal had urged him to ask her.

The one thing Brian missed seeing was his mother. Ma had told him to go on ahead and pick up Sarah--she and Mr. Brooks would be along presently. Brian had searched for Michaela all evening--neither she nor Cal had ever shown up. He'd been surprised Ma had agreed to go in the first place, but was encouraged by it. He even dared to hope that maybe...maybe she was getting better. Now to find out she hadn't even left the house, and that Mr. Brooks was gone as well...filled him with remorse.

"I'm comin' B.!" he called in answer to another cry from his mother's bedroom. Then, without warning, the cries stopped. Brian paused. That had certainly never happened before. The baby never quieted until he was cuddled and comforted, his every last need attended to. Brian quickly opened the bedroom door. Either something was wrong...or someone else had gotten to Byron first.

Michaela turned from her place in front of the baby's crib, her son in her arms. "Oh, Brian. I'm sorry. Did we wake you?" She rubbed the baby's back as he played with the lace on her nightgown bodice.

He came to her side. "That's all right, Ma. I'm usually up with B. anyways. Is he all right?"

She kissed her baby's cheek. "He's fine. Nothing a clean diaper won't cure, right Brynie?"

Brian smiled. "Well, if ya need help just call."

"I will. Thank you." She grinned at her baby, looking into his blue eyes and stroking his hair, and Byron curled up, kicked his legs, and cooed happily. "Oh Brian, did you have a good time at the dance?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Real good. Last night when I got home, I came up to see ya, but you were sleepin'. Ma, where's Mr. Brooks? Daniel said he...he left."

She placed Byron back in his crib, taking a deep breath. "That's right. You knew he was only planning on staying a month."

"I know but--but he didn't say good-bye," Brian murmured, a trace of anger in his voice. "He just walked out on us."

She put her hand on his shoulder. "Brian, you mustn't hold that against him. He was very kind to you while he was with us."

He bit back tears. "He was nice to you, too, Ma. I wanted ya t' go to the dance. I wanted t'...see ya dressed up an' dancin'."

She gave him a hug. "I'm sorry, Brian. I wish I could explain." She kissed his hair. "...I love you."

He closed his eyes. It had been awhile since his ma had held him, held him tight, kissed him. He swiped at a few tears quickly. "Love you too, Ma," he whispered.

& & &

"Ma!" Brian burst into her bedroom, waving a paper.

Michaela stood before her long mirror, gazing at the somberly clothed reflection. She turned to her son.

He handed her the paper. "An 'A', Ma. I got an 'A' on the algebra test." He grinned wide, watching her face expectantly.

Michaela skimmed the test. "This is wonderful, Brian." She put her arm around him. "You've improved so much."

"It's not so hard," he admitted, "once I understood it. Mr. Brooks helped me catch up. He knew everything about it." He noticed her expression somber. He put his arm around her waist. "Is he ever coming back, Ma?" he asked.

"Cal? I...I'm not sure," she murmured, taking a stiff breath.

"Why'd he leave?" Brian asked hesitantly. "Don't he like us anymore?"

"Brian...it's...it's best that he left," Michaela told him, voice unsteady. She placed his test on her vanity.

"Why?" Brian questioned.

"Well, because...because Mr. Brooks was...was living with us," she attempted to explain, "and I'm..." She squeezed her left hand into a fist, feeling the cool gold of her wedding and engagement rings pressing against her skin. "I'm no longer wed."

Brian thought a moment. "It's like when Sully left after dinner each evening, 'fore ya got married."

She blushed, nodding quickly. "Yes, in a way."

"I liked him," Brian said, resting his head against his mother's shoulder.

She stroked his hair. "I know."

A sudden screech from down the hall startled both Michaela and Brian. They burst apart. "Katie," Michaela said fearfully, rushing to her daughter's bedroom, Brian following.

The child was lying on her side beside her crib, face red and tear-streaked, wailing in distress. Michaela immediately fell to her knees and scooped her daughter into her arms, holding her close. "Sweetheart," she spoke worriedly. "Oh, what happened?" She caressed Katie's flushed cheeks. "How did you get out of your crib?"

Katie rubbed her eyes with her fists, gasping. "Boo-boo," she explained.

Brian sat beside the two, rubbing Katie's back. "Where's it hurt, Kate?"

"My leg," she sobbed, pointing at her knee.

"Oh, did you fall, darling?" Michaela carefully took the child's knee in her hand, examining it. The wooden floor had given it a good blow, it would probably bruise, but it wasn't anything serious.

"Get med-cine, Mama," Katie instructed, sniffling.

"I have just the cure for this," Michaela assured her. She kissed Katie's knee. "There. Now how does it feel? All better?"

Katie smiled, hugging her mother. "All betta."

"Kate, what were ya doin' climbing out of your crib?" Brian asked, relieved his sister wasn't seriously hurt.

Katie held Michaela tighter. "I wanna seep wid Mama," she whimpered.

Michaela stood up with Katie in her arms. "Would you like to have your nap in Mama's bed instead?"

Katie nodded. "Pease."

"All right," Michaela agreed. "For today at least."

Satisfied, Katie wrapped her arms around Michaela's neck as she carried her into the bedroom.

"Have a good sleep," Brian told Katie. "I gotta start the chores." He gave the little girl a hug and kiss, much to her delight, then padded down the stairs.

Michaela knelt beside her, tucking a blanket beneath her chin. "I love you so much, Katie." She pinched her daughter's nose affectionately, producing a few giggles from the toddler.

"Love you," Katie replied, holding her arms out for another hug. Katie adored being held, kissed and cuddled. Michaela obliged, kissing her once, then twice. She decided to make sure to give the little girl at least two kisses each night, or before each nap: one from herself, one from Sully.

Michaela squeezed her tight. "Mmm...sleep well."

"'All wight," the child replied, closing her eyes.

Michaela smiled. "All right." She stroked Katie's soft locks for a few minutes, then stood. She peeked in Byron's crib below the window, rubbing his back and running her hand down his head as he stirred, one leg twitching in his sleep, then returned to her mirror.

She gazed at the reflection up and down, took a deep breath, and unbuttoned her blouse. She placed it over the back of the vanity chair, then unclasped her skirt and stepped out of it, discarding it beside the blouse.

She looked in the mirror again. The image staring back was thin, frail, and as pale as its camisole and pantaloons. She closed her eyes, then opened her wardrobe, sifting through clothing she hadn't seen in ages. She selected a cornflower blue blouse and a darker, navy blue skirt to match. Resolutely, she changed into the new, brighter apparel. Next she sat at her vanity, unpinned her tight bun and let her hair flow to her waist unhindered.

For five minutes she sat before the mirror, unspeaking, taking in the change. Cal was right: she looked better...and she felt better. A feeling of peace came over her. The Sully she knew would want her to dress in pretty colors, smile, and feel good inside. Even if she never wore black again, it wouldn't matter. She would never lose the memories of her husband.

She picked up the somber mourning garments from the chair, folded them, opened her trunk, and placed them inside. She took one last look at the dismal black she had worn for over a year, then gave the lid of the trunk a tap with her palm, pursing her lips as it fell shut with a satisfying thud.

Michaela stood, swallowing hard as she choked back tears. Finally, she staggered to the bed, laying beside Katie and drawing the slumbering child into her arms. With a final deep breath, she closed her eyes, and slept.

to be continued...


	10. Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

Mouth watering, Byron watched Grace sprinkle a liberal handful of cinnamon over a not-yet-baked apple pie.

"Oh!" Grace grumbled. "Here." She selected a cinnamon-coated apple slice from the pie and gave it to the little boy, then placed the pie in the oven and added another log.

"Tank you, Miz Gwace," Byron said, mouth full.

"You're welcome, but if your ma doesn't come pick ya up soon I'll have nothin' left to feed my customers!" She wiped her hands on her apron, grinning teasingly.

He giggled at her, then spotted Michaela and Cal entering the café from the back door of the clinic. "Mama!"

He slid down from his chair and ran to her, the half-eaten apple slice in his fist.

Michaela lifted him into her arms, kissing his cheek. "Mama had a patient. I hope you didn't think I'd forgotten about you, sweetheart. Are you hungry?" she asked.

"Uh-huh." He beamed at Cal.

"Hey, Squirt," Cal said, tousling his hair.

"Why don't you have lunch with Cal and me?" Michaela suggested, approaching her friend. "I'm sorry I'm late, Grace."

"Figured somethin' was keepin' ya," Grace replied, leading them to a table to sit. "'Byron and I didn't mind. We kept each other company, right pumpkin?"

Byron nodded as Cal lifted him onto a chair. Byron sat on his knees. "Miz Gwace gives me apples," he informed his mother, holding out his browning slice for her to see.

Cal pulled out Michaela's chair.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"You're welcome," he replied, eyes twinkling as he took a seat.

&&&

Cal sank back in his chair, rubbing his belly. "Sure do love Grace's chicken."

"Me, too," Byron agreed as his mother picked up her knife and fork once more and cut off a few more bites for him to eat. Between cutting Byron's meat and wiping his mouth and hands, Michaela hadn't had much time to eat her own meal, and was only half finished.

Cal peered across the café at the livery. "Oh, there's Robert E. Mind if I say hello?"

"No, go ahead," Michaela invited as Byron picked up a carrot with his fingers. "Brynie, no, no. Use your fork," she scolded.

Cal pulled his napkin from his shirt collar, placed it on the table, and stood up. "Be back in a bit."

Grace approached the table with her pad and pencil. "Dessert, anyone?"

"I want pie, pease," Byron spoke up.

"You've eaten so many of my apples there ain't gonna be room in that belly of yours for more!" Grace accused good-naturedly.

"Pease, Miz Gwace!" Byron begged, knowing she was teasing him.

Grace chuckled. "Of course, pumpkin. Ya can have as much as ya want." She glanced at his mother. "Dr. Mike?"

Michaela's elbow rested on the table, her chin on her hand, gazing across the café.

Grace followed her gaze, grinning to herself. "He's a gentleman," she said.

"Hm?" Michaela replied, glancing at her. "Cal? Oh...yes."

Grace smiled. "These days they're hard to come by."

"He's so sweet to all of us," Michaela told her.

Grace cleared her throat. "Is he...is he gonna be here awhile?"

Michaela tensed. "He'll leave...when his job with Preston is over I suppose. He's going to drive the Chateau carriage. For four weeks."

"I dunno...maybe he'll find a reason to stay a little longer," Grace said openly.

"What do you mean?" Michaela questioned, disconcerted.

"Three slices of pie, comin' up," Grace replied, spinning around and heading back to the stove.

&&&

"So just like that, I got myself a job," Cal told his friend proudly.

"Sounds real good, Cal," Robert E. said, brushing down a horse. "Just don't let Preston get t' ya."

"I'll try not to," Cal chuckled. He looked over at Michaela, chatting with Grace. "Four weeks," he murmured, pondering it.

Robert E. watched him. "Gonna be hard to leave I s'pose...you'll miss the friends ya made."

"Robert E.," he said resolutely, deciding he could trust him, "what am I gonna do? I'm gonna miss her like crazy." He leaned against the corral, sighing. "Just look at her. Ain't she just...wonderful?"

Robert E. glanced over at the café. He smiled to himself. "I'm lookin' at a pretty wonderful woman right now," he said proudly.

"Grace?" Cal murmured, putting his hands in his pockets.

Robert E. nodded. "Loved her since I first laid eyes on her." He ran the brush down the horse's back.

"I know how ya feel," Cal sighed. "Mike's something ya never wanna tear your eyes away from. She makes me dizzy. She's got these ideas, and opinions. She's so smart. Oh, and her kids. If they ain't the three sweetest things I ever did meet." He let out a sigh. "I think she's got me falling in love with her...Can't say as I've ever really been in love. I'm not sure what to look for."

"Ya can't stop thinkin' about her?" Robert E. asked, amused.

"Not for a second," Cal admitted shyly.

"Never seen anything prettier?"

"Never in my life," Cal murmured dreamily.

"Yep, sounds like you're in love all right," Robert E. informed him.

"What's a man to do?" Cal asked worriedly.

Robert E. put down the brush and crossed his arms. "Well, I'd say tell 'er...but..."

"But Mike was married before," Cal admitted. "I know she really loved Sully."

"You're afraid she can't love ya, too," Robert E. speculated.

Cal nodded solemnly. "Don't see how I can ever compare. I don't want to...to scare her. I sure don't want to lose her friendship. Maybe if I found out a little more about Sully...maybe if I tried to be like him a little."

Robert E. stroked his chin. "I s'pose all ya can do is...take each day as it comes. But ya can't change yourself for her. Keep on doing what you're doing now. Give 'er time."

"These things take a lotta waiting," Cal sighed.

"Let me tell ya, it's worth it. Be it Dr. Mike or not, when ya find the right woman and have 'er in your arms, it's worth it."

Cal sighed once more. "What if Mike's the right woman for me...but she don't wanna return the feelings?"

"I seen her look at ya, Cal. She likes ya, t' say the least."

Cal smiled. "Ya think so?"

"Sure do. Just be yourself, Cal."

Cal shook his hand. "Thanks, Robert E."

"Any time," Robert E. replied.

&&&

"Reverend Johnson," Cal called, approaching him.

The reverend ceased his sweeping of the church steps and stared blindly in the direction of Cal. "Who's there?" he asked.

"It's Cal Brooks. Michaela's friend?" He removed his hat and touched the reverend's arm to let him know where he was.

"Cal, yes I remember." He leaned the broom handle against the porch railing. "How can I help you?"

"You know Michaela's son, Byron?"

"Of course," the Reverand replied, smiling.

"Well, Byron wants to be in this Christmas pageant you're putting on."

"Brian told me his brother decided he didn't want to play the part of the Christ child," the reverend spoke, confused. "Did he change his mind?"

"No, but he'd really like to be an angel like his sister. If there's any way the little guy could just, I don't know, put on some wings, follow her around I guess."

The reverend stroked his chin. "Well, Cal, I don't know. I've never had a child that young take part." He shook his head remorsefully.

"...No, I s'pose not," Cal sighed. "Well, thanks anyway." He turned to leave.

"Wait," the reverend called, descending the steps. "I could give him a small part, maybe where he only has to sit or stand up front next to the nativity. He could be a shepherd, or a barn animal. A lamb, maybe. Would he like that?"

Cal smiled. "Yeah. I'm sure."

"Good," the reverend said, grinning. "Well, we're having rehearsals at six o'clock every Saturday night until Christmas. Why don't you have Dr. Mike send him with Brian and Katie next time, and I'll see if I can't work him in."

"I really appreciate this," Cal replied gratefully, shaking his hand. "Well, I gotta head off to work. I'll be seeing ya."

"Glad to help," the reverend assured him. "And...we're all glad to have you back."

Cal nodded, smiling. "Thanks. It's great to be back."

&&&

Michaela shut the clinic door behind her, locked it, and looked about for Cal. That morning she had told him she planned to spend the day with Byron, turn him over to Brian when he came home from school, and then work the evening at the clinic, until ten o'clock at the latest, she decided. As it was a Friday night she hoped to be home before the children went to bed, in time to tuck them in. Cal had offered to bring her back to the homestead, claiming he didn't like the idea of her riding home alone at such an hour, and blushing, she had agreed.

Michaela unclasped her bag, found her pocket watch, and opened it. About ten minutes past ten. Assuming that something was keeping him and that he would probably show up soon, she sat on the bench, placing her bag beside her, and folding her hands to wait.

Cal had held his job at the Chateau for almost a week now. Often he would stop by the clinic to take Michaela to lunch, give Byron rides in the carriage during Grace's busiest hours, or bring the older children home from school. So far, he hadn't voiced any complaints about Preston, and seemed to be enjoying his work.

Across the street spirited piano music coming from inside the Nugget swept through the swinging doors. Despite herself, Michaela tapped her foot in time with the beat. Every so often, she would hear the laughter of a group of men playing poker perhaps, the giggling of a prostitute, the slamming of a shot glass on the bar, or Hank drawling, "What'll ya have?"

Just as Michaela was beginning to really worry about Cal, she saw a drunken man pushed through the swinging doors, staggering onto the Nugget porch.

"Aw, come on, Hankth," he slurred, stumbling back and leaning against the doors. "It's early."

"Go home, stranger," Hank ordered, obviously fed up with the man. "Ya've had one too many for this hour o' the night."

Michaela looked on quietly, nervously sliding down to the darker shadows of the bench.

The man tottered to the center of the street, clutching an empty bottle of whiskey, his chin sticky with alcohol. "Aw, hell," he grumbled, throwing the bottle against the front of Michaela's clinic.

Michaela let out an involuntary cry and shook in her seat, startled by the shattering of the glass against the stone.

"Well, what d' we have here?" the man crooned, stepping up onto the clinic porch, one hand gripping a post to keep him steady.

Michaela stood up, backing against the bench. She tried to keep her lips from trembling. "My friend's coming to p-pick me up any minute," she told him firmly, swallowing hard. She looked over his features: he was probably about her age, with dirty blond hair and stubble, blood-shot brown eyes, and bulging biceps beneath his damp, dirty shirt. He reeked of sweat and alcohol, especially when he spoke. Michaela couldn't recall ever seeing him before. She wondered if he were part of the group of workers passing through to repair a section of railroad a few miles from town.

"Is that so?" he asked, not at all fazed, smiling as he looked her up and down.

She tried to appear confident. "Yes." She stole a glance out to the street, hoping to see Cal approaching in the wagon to take her away from all this.

Suddenly he grabbed her arm and dragging her to the alley between her clinic and the gazette.

"No!" she begged, struggling in vain. "Please!"

He only laughed, pinning her against the wall of the clinic with all his weight.

"Hank!" she shouted desperately, her cries drowned by the noisy saloon.

The man immediately gave her a firm, harsh slap across her cheek, and then put his hand over her mouth. "Keep quiet! Or I'll keep ya quiet! Ya don't believe I will?"

She nodded tearfully, eyes wide with fright. Slowly, he released his hand, and then brought it to her jacket, pushing it down off her shoulders, and then ripping open her blouse.

"Hank!" Michaela screamed involuntarily.

Instantly, the man raised his hand and gave her another hard smack. Michaela held her jaw closed tight to prevent herself from shrieking as she felt the bitter sting against her cheek. She gasped, tasting blood. Her lip was bleeding.

"Now are ya gonna keep quieth?" he growled, "or am I gonna have t' do that again?"

"I will. I w-will," she told him, quivering with fright. "Please, don't hurt me!"

He chuckled, then brought his lips over hers, thrusting his tongue into her mouth, his hands fondling her breasts.

Michaela squirmed and moaned, but could not shake herself free. She tried to raise her knee, she pushed against him, tried clawing at his face, but it was no use. He was much too strong. She had never been as terrified in her entire life as she was at that moment.

to be continued...


	11. Chapter 23

Part Twenty-three

Michaela finished drying the last of the supper dishes, then strolled over to the sitting room. Brian was kneeling beside the fire, a letter in his hand, staring into the flames.

"I'm sorry Colleen can't make it for Christmas," Michaela said, taking a seat in the wing back chair behind him.

Brian sighed, folding the letter they had received from his sister well over a month ago. "A chance at an internship in New York don't come along every day," he replied certainly, though the disappointment he felt was obvious.

"Your grandmother and aunts and cousins will take good care of her for the holidays," she assured him. "And we'll wire Boston tomorrow, how's that sound?"

"Sure," he said quietly, tucking the letter neatly in the envelope and sticking it in his breast pocket. "Goodnight, Ma." He stood up.

"Oh, you're going to bed already?" Getting Brian to think about sleep on Christmas Eve, as far as Michaela could remember, had never been easy. Then again, he wasn't a little boy anymore.

He nodded, lowering his eyes and saying nothing.

She rose and gave him a hug. "Well, goodnight then." She stroked his hair, eyeing him dubiously. Perhaps he was more upset about Colleen's absence then he was letting on. "Brian..."

"'Night," he said quickly, pulling away and heading toward the stairs.

"Aren't you going to say goodnight to your brother and sister, and Cal?" she called, but moments later she heard his door shut, possibly a little louder than usual, and she assumed he hadn't heard her.

Sighing, Michaela returned to the kitchen. Cal had Byron seated on the counter next to the pump, and was wiping his sooty nose clean with a washcloth.

"Is it coming off, Cal?" Michaela asked, grinning.

He growled good-naturedly. "It's taking its time about it. You sure this is just charcoal?"

Byron scrunched up his nose. "It's chaw-coal," he affirmed. "From da chuwch stow."

"Church stove," Michaela corrected.

"Stow," repeated Byron, trying his hardest to articulate the difficult word.

Cal shook his head. "Well, it's stubborn charcoal then. Maybe we left it on too long."

Michaela turned to Katie, who was still wearing her paper angel wings, kneeling on a kitchen table chair in front of the cookie jar and a plate of cookies. "My goodness!" Michaela exclaimed. "How many cookies are you leaving for Santa?"

Katie pointed to each quickly, counting to herself. "Ummm...eight, nine, ten. Ten."

Cal whistled. "You're gonna give St. Nick a belly ache."

Michaela chuckled, finding a glass and opening the icebox. She poured a glass of milk and placed it beside the plate.

"Mama, is San'a Cwaus gonna eat all dem cookies?" Byron asked, eyes wide as he looked at the plate.

Michaela glanced at Cal, raising her eyebrows.

"I think if he does," Cal spoke up, "he's gonna need some help from Mrs. Claus." He winked discretely at Michaela.

"He'll eat them all," Katie affirmed confidently. She put the lid on the cookie jar, jumped down from her chair and returned the jar to the counter.

"I think it's time for bed you two," Michaela announced, producing a pair of groans from her little girl and boy. She lifted Byron from the counter, kissing his now clean nose, and took Katie's hand.

"Cal, tell me a stowy, pease," Byron called, stretching his hand in the man's direction.

Cal cleared his throat, picking up a towel. "Um, your mama can do that, Squirt. I'll straighten things up down here." He wiped the counter of a few crumbs.

Disappointed, but mindful that although his mother's stories weren't as good as Cal's, they were nonetheless passable, he hugged Michaela's neck. "All wight."

After Michaela had told the children a shortened version of A Christmas Story, tucked them into bed, and made certain they were at least trying to go to sleep, she returned downstairs.

Cal offered her a chocolate cookie as soon as she returned, and she took it with a smile.

"You'd better start now if you're gonna have these all gone by bedtime," he told her.

"You take some, too," she invited.

"If ya insist," he teased, gathering a handful and taking a big bite into the largest cookie. "Mmm. You made these?"

She nodded. "With Katie's help. I think she's going to be quite a cook. She certainly doesn't get that from me." She took a sip of the milk.

"Sully was a good cook?" he asked.

She bent her head. "Well, he learned how to make a few tasty dishes, when he was in a mining camp. He let me sample those. And once in awhile, when I was kept late at the clinic, he'd make dinner." She smiled. "He brought me breakfast in bed once, when I was expecting Katie. I couldn't keep it down. He felt terrible."

He smiled, pulling out a chair for himself and Michaela. "You and Sully, ya had Katie right away?" he said quietly, not sure if he might be embarrassing her. "I mean, after ya got married of course."

She sat down. "She was born about a year after we were married," Michaela told him, blushing only a little. She looked up. "Sully delivered her."

He raised one eyebrow. "He was a doctor?"

She chuckled. "No. It's...a long story."

"Bet he knew a lot more than I did," Cal admitted, biting into another cookie.

She shook her head. "No, I don't think so. But I think...I like how my children were born just fine. I wouldn't change anything about it...except..." She trailed off, averting her eyes.

"Except ya wish Sully could of been there, for Byron," Cal finished knowingly, in a quiet voice. "Ya wish he had been there for ya when he was born."

"I've spent the last four years wishing," she said softly. "I've had enough of it."

They were silent for a moment, then Cal looked at her, smiling reassuringly. "Your cheek's looking a lot better," he murmured.

She brought her fingers to the fading bruise. "...Oh." She stood up abruptly. "Well, I have some wrapping to do." She paused. "Cal...will you stay and help me?"

"I oughta get back to the Chateau..." he stammered.

She came to his side. "I was meaning to ask...why don't you stay in Colleen's room, just for tonight? That way you can be here when the children wake up." Her cheeks reddened, but she was able to look him in the eyes. "I know it'd be a wonderful surprise."

"I do like surprises," he admitted.

"Then stay," she whispered, grasping his hand. "And of course you'll join us for Christmas dinner. Matthew's coming home from Denver, and Dorothy and Cloud Dancing will be here. I know Byron and Katie drew you a picture...they'll want to give it to you."

He nodded slowly. "All right, Mike. I'll stay."

&&&

Around eleven o'clock, Michaela and Cal had finished filling the stockings, wrapping the presents, and organizing them under the tree. After bidding each other a polite but awkward goodnight, Michaela went upstairs. She changed into her nightgown, brushed her hair, and then found herself at the window, staring up at the stars.

"Another Christmas without you," she murmured faintly. Tomorrow morning she would smile and laugh and watch her children experience the delight of stockings, presents and candy, and it wouldn't hurt. At least not as much as it used to.

She recalled the first Christmas after Sully's death. Byron was a newborn, waking at all hours, and so she spent the night feeding him, rocking him back to sleep, and curling up under the covers, hugging her pillow and crying for Sully. That was when she had decided she could no longer nurse her baby, despite her firm belief that breast milk was best for him. It was too much to feel his tiny, soft fingers gripping her thumb, to look down at his sweet face, wide, blue eyes gazing into hers, the golden-brown fluff atop his head, already so much like her husband. If she didn't look at him, she wouldn't be reminded. So Brian started getting up with the baby, warming a bottle, feeding him while Michaela slept, trudging to school the next day with drooping eyes, and never once complaining.

As Michaela thought back on it now, she was terribly ashamed. Thank God Cal had come, woken her up to what she was doing, made her realize how unfair things were for Brian, how much Katie needed her, and how much she loved the baby.

Michaela went to her bed, removed her robe from the bedpost and walked out of the room. She quietly entered Brian's room, knelt beside his bed and kissed his forehead. Then she tiptoed into the room across the hall, stroked Katie's hair and gave her a kiss, then headed to her little boy's room.

She opened the door slowly, expecting to find him asleep. "Byron, what are you doing up?"

The little boy was on his tiptoes, holding the windowsill with both hands and peering up at the starlit sky. "Lookin' for San'a," he explained. He scratched his head. "He's gonna come, Mama?"

She grinned, coming to his side and kneeling next to him. "Well, let's see. Have you been a good boy?"

"Yeah," he replied.

She caressed his hair. "Then I think Santa probably has a few things in his bag for my little lamb, but only if you're in bed and asleep!"

Giggling, he scurried over to his bed. Michaela followed him, helping him under the covers and tucking them up to his chin. "The pageant was wonderful, Brynie," Michaela told her son. "Mama's so proud of you and Katie and Brian."

"I saw ya, Mama," he replied. His eyes squinting with satisfaction, reminding Michaela of her husband.

"Yes, I know," she chuckled. "Cal and I were quick to get seats right up front."

"I saw you and Papa," he added, his smile growing broader.

She frowned, stroking his hair. What was Sully thinking? she asked herself, guilt gripping her throat. "Brynie...you understand what pretend is."

"I p'tend I'm a lamb," he announced.

"That's right. About Cal being your papa...well, that's pretend, too." She hoped he would nod in agreement, though she didn't expect him to.

"No p'tend, Mama," he insisted, confused. "Cal is my papa."

"No, sweetheart. I know this is difficult to understand and I'm sorry I let it go for this long." She pressed her lips to his forehead for a long moment. "Sully," she finally murmured, "Byron Sully is your father. I named you after him. The moment I set eyes on you I knew that's what I would call you."

"I wanna see Sull-wee," he demanded softly, unable to comprehend it all.

"You remember we've talked about this, several times. Papa had an accident and died before you were born, and is in heaven. God wanted him." She pursed her lips to keep back tears.

"Where's heaven?" he asked, taking a stray wisp of her hair in his hands and stroking it with his fingers.

"Heaven?" Michaela murmured, not expecting this. "Well, I suppose heaven is...all around us. I don't quite understand it myself, but we put our trust in the Lord. Papa's here watching over us, even though we can't see him."

Byron's eyes widened, suddenly frightened as his imagination contemplated the idea of his papa lurking outside the window, in the bureau, or perhaps under his bed. He stretched his arms to clutch Michaela's neck. "Seep wid me, Mama," he whispered.

She hugged him close. "Oh. You can come sleep with me."

"Mama, don't get acciden'," he begged tearfully as she lifted him into her arms. "Don't go to heaven."

She stopped in the hallway, rocking him soothingly. "Oh, Brynie. I won't leave you. Never." She walked into her room and laid him on her bed, then brought him the photograph of her wedding day. She gave it to him to hold. "This is Papa, sweetheart," she told him, pointing at Sully. "Remember seeing this picture? Mama dressed up in this pretty gown from Grandma and your aunts and my friends, and promised your papa I'd love him forever."

Byron stared into the unfamiliar man's eyes. "Papa," he experimented. He wished the man could jump out of the photograph, talk with him and play with him, hoist him into his arms like Cal did so often. This was tough business, Byron decided, having a papa in heaven.

Michaela touched his cheek with her finger. "So it's all right for Cal to be nice to us, but the man in that photograph is your father, and he loves you so very much."

Byron scratched his head. "You sure?"

She smiled. "Very. Papa and Mama loved you even before you were in my tummy. Katie, too. Do you know I have a dream, often? The same dream. Your papa speaks to me in it. Michaela, he says, Byron's so beautiful. I'd give anything to hold him. Don't let him ever forget I love him every single second of every single day."

"Me?" Byron whispered.

"You," she assured him, kissing his nose. She stood and removed her robe, placing it on the end of the bed, then leaned over him once more.

"I should tell Cal this is my papa?" he asked, pointing at the photograph.

"Cal knows who that is," she assured him. "You don't need to say anything. Besides, Cal'll be moving on soon..." Her throat tightened. "After Christmas, when his job for Mr. Lodge is over." She placed the picture on her nightstand and pulled back the covers next to him.

He raised his eyebrows. "He leaving?" the little boy asked.

"Yes," she said quietly, reclining beside him and pulling the covers up to her waist.

"He hates me?" Byron persisted.

"Oh, no," she replied immediately, gathering him into her arms. "No, of course not, darling. Cal loves you. But he's only visiting. He has to go back to his regular job, driving stagecoaches...Perhaps he'll visit again sometime."

"I want Cal t' visit lots," Byron told her sleepily.

"Shut your eyes now." She snuggled him closer. "Sweet dreams."

He closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of Michaela's nightgown, like flowers, like the sun, like his mama. "Sweet dweams," he murmured back, falling asleep a few moments later.

Michaela watched her son rest for several minutes, traced her finger lightly across his brow, down his little nose, over his flushed lips. She hugged him tighter. She wanted to love Byron as much as a mother possibly could, give everything to the precious child in her embrace, but it would never be enough. She couldn't be his papa, too.

Though she now realized asking Cal to go along with Byron's fantasy hadn't been the best idea, for a brief moment she imagined Cal as the little boy's father. It seemed things would be so much easier that way. She closed her eyes and pictured herself happy in Cal's arms, loving him, and someday, perhaps marrying him. She would have someone to share the bad times as well as the good times, someone to grow old with, like she always thought she would with Sully. The children would have a father.

She held her breath. Suppose Cal decided to stay in Colorado, even after his job was over? A part of her said that it was all right to want him to stay...to have feelings for him. If he were to ask to court her, it would be all right. But of course he was leaving, and there was no use dwelling on what would never be. It was going to hurt when he left. It hurt just imagining it.

Michaela kissed Byron's cheek softly, a tear from her cheek falling to his. "Sully," she murmured against his cheek. "Tell me it's all right to feel this way. I need you to tell me." She waited, hearing nothing but silence.

to be continued...


	12. Chapter 24

Chapter Twenty-four

Michaela nestled herself in one of the wing back chairs, wrapping her hands around a steaming cup of coffee, watching her children sitting with their gifts among a sea of discarded brown wrapping paper.

Katie was happily arranging her dolls and stuffed animals in a little cradle Michaela had gotten Robert E. to make. Michaela had special ordered purple paint from the mercantile, and painted it herself, because purple was Katie's favorite color.

Byron was wearing a scarf and hat knitted by his mother, and he and Cal were kneeling across from one another, Cal attempting to teach him how to spin his new top.

Brian sat cross-legged beside the fire with a brand new copy of Huckleberry Finn, his favorite book, boots for the winter on his feet, and an open package of gumdrops in his lap, enough to keep him happy for several weeks.

From the children, Michaela had received a warm, intricately crocheted white shawl. She knew Brian, Katie and Byron had all been saving their pennies for the past few months, but had never expected such a beautiful gift. She thought about Sully, and how much he would have loved it on her, and how proud he would have been of their children.

Suddenly, Katie rose from her spot on the floor, opened the lower cupboard of the cabinet near the dining room table, and came back to the sitting room with a piece of off-white paper in her hands. She stood before Cal, holding it out. "We painted this for ya, Mr. Brooks," she said softly, wiggling her toes in her slippers.

Michaela looked on with a smile as Cal took the picture.

"You painted this?" he asked, grinning as he made out five stick figures, one with long yellow hair, on some sort of red blob.

"Me an' Katie," answered Byron, grasping Cal's arm and looking at the picture with him.

"This is us sleddin'," Katie explained. "You, Brian, Mama, me, Byron."

"I dwew the sun," Byron spoke up proudly, pointing at a yellow smudge in the sky, resembling a circle. He tossed a tassel of his scarf over his shoulder.

"Aw, this is great, kids," Cal chuckled. "Thanks. I love it."

"Will ya keep it forever?" asked Katie, glad he seemed pleased.

"Forever," he promised. "...Every time I look at it, I'll remember you and how much fun we had that day." He involuntarily turned to glance at Michaela.

Michaela lowered her eyes and took a sip of coffee.

He cleared his throat. "I...uh...I got something for you kids, too. Hold on." He stood up, put on his jacket, and headed out the door.

Eyebrows raised, Michaela and the three children watched the door expectantly for his return.

After a few minutes, Cal came back in, a wooden crate covered with a blanket in tow.

"What do you have in there, Cal?" Michaela asked, her curiosity piqued.

"It's, uh..." Cal stammered. The crate let loose a whimper.

"A puppy!" Katie exclaimed.

Cal chuckled, placing the crate on the floor and lifting out a scrawny, brown-speckled mutt, about ten weeks old.

"A puppy!" Byron shouted, running to Cal and taking the creature in his arms. "For me?"

"For you and your sister and for Brian," Cal clarified. "She was the littlest of a litter Mr. Slicker's dog had. No one wanted her."

"We'll take 'er!" Katie declared. "Let me have a turn, Byron."

Reluctantly, Byron gave her the dog to hold. It gave another whimper and licked Katie's cheek.

Hesitantly, Brian placed his gifts on a nearby chair and joined the group.

"Cal, a puppy," Michaela murmured, not sure if she approved.

"We had a dog," Brian spoke up, patting the puppy's head gently. "He ran away...when Pa died."

The room quieted, all eyes turning to Brian.

Cal glanced at Michaela uncomfortably. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know." He stroked the floppy ears of the mutt. "I can...I can take her back I s'pose."

"No!" Byron protested. "Bian, my puppy!" he insisted, as Katie hugging the animal protectively. He rubbed his eyes as tears slipped down his cheeks. "My puppy," he moaned.

Brian knelt to his level and patted his back. "B., don't cry. Don't cry. That's all right if ya wanna keep him, I'm just sayin' we used to have a dog, and we shouldn't forget him even if he ain't here. A puppy's nice, but it can't ever replace Sully's wolf." He glanced at Cal, then turned a penetrating gaze on his mother.

"Brian," Michaela spoke up chastisingly, then hesitated.

"I'd better take him back," Cal said quietly, picking up the puppy by the skin of his neck.

Michaela grasped his arm. "No, Cal. It's a wonderful gift. What do you say to Mr. Brooks, children?"

Katie and Byron beamed. "Thank you!" they told him simultaneously.

"...You're welcome," murmured Cal.

Katie came to her older brother and sat herself on his knee. "What was doggie's name, Brian?"

Brian swallowed hard as Michaela rested a hand on his shoulder. "Pa's dog? Wolf."

"Wof," echoed Katie thoughtfully.

Byron took the puppy from Cal and sat on the floor with it. "Wof," he said, tapping the puppy's wet nose. "I name ya Wof!"

"She don't look anything like Wolf," Brian told him. He sighed, not wanting to hurt anyone's feelings. "But since ya don't remember him...that's all right, I guess."

"Wolf the second it is then," Michaela affirmed.

The children engrossed themselves in play with the new puppy, and Cal offered to refill Michaela's coffee cup. He came back with a small wrapped package, a shy grin on his face.

"I thought you were getting my coffee," Michaela told him wryly.

He sat in the chair next to her and gave her the package. "I think ya might like this instead."

"Oh, Cal, how sweet," she murmured, blushing. "I didn't expect anything."

"Open it," he encouraged impatiently.

Eyebrows raised, she untied the string and tore off the brown paper. She lifted the lid of a small box, dug through some newspaper shredding, and at last came to the gift. It was a small angel, made of clear glass, with a gold-colored glass halo. It's skirt was a complex design of tiny bows, and its wings were smooth and flawless. It's hands were folded, its head bent, as if in prayer.

Michaela couldn't tear her eyes from it, and soon felt tears slipping down her cheeks as she recalled the afternoon Cal had taught her how to make a snow angel, how much she had smiled and laughed that day, and how much she loved to be with him. How much she would miss him.

"Something the matter with it?" Cal finally asked nervously.

"No, nothing," she choked. "It's...beautiful. I love it. Oh, Cal."

"You usually can't stop bawling when ya love something?" he teased.

"Usually," she returned wryly, dabbing at her tears with a handkerchief. "Thank you."

He leaned forward and embraced her warmly. "You're welcome." He pulled back. "See, it's an ornament," he told her as she fingered a thin string attached to the back.

"Oh, yes. You couldn't of found this in the mercantile," she remarked.

He shook his head. "There's this glass factory, in Chicago. They make all sorts of things, all outta glass: plates, real pretty lamps, they make a nativity set, and dolls, only ya can't really play with them. Anyways, I thought maybe you'd like this angel."

"I do," she assured him, standing up and placing the angel carefully on the table between the chairs. "And I have something for you."

"Really?" Cal returned, surprised.

She fished around behind the tree and finally came up with a package, a little larger than the one Cal had given her.

"What is it?" he asked, shaking it gently.

"Open it," she ordered, echoing his words.

He tore off the paper, shook open a box, and pulled out a handsome gold watch with a chain. "Mike," he breathed, turning it from side to side.

"See, you press this," she instructed, leaning forward and guiding his fingers to a tiny clasp, "and it opens. You must remember to wind it each morning or it won't keep the time."

"It's...it's...too much," he at last whispered.

She shrugged. "You need a watch." She gazed into his eyes, grinning softly. "So you won't be late again."

He shook his head. "I won't ever be late with a watch like this to look at. It's just like the ones the fellas at the bank had. I'd sit on my pa's lap at his desk and stare at all those chains."

"Now you'll have your own chain," Michaela told him.

"I can't believe ya got me this," he said, continuing to turn the shiny gold back and forth. He looked up. "Mike...where did ya...how did ya...?"

She lowered her eyes. "You wouldn't take the money I wanted to give you for paying off my loan..."

"You spent that on this?" he uttered in disbelief.

She nodded. "You told me to use it for Christmas presents, remember?"

"Well, Mike, I didn't mean for me," he returned.

She put on her best frown. "You're going to hurt my feelings if you don't accept it. You don't know how much time I spent choosing the perfect one."

"Too much time." He took her hand and kissed it sweetly. "Thank you so much."

She shyly averted her eyes. "You're welcome," she said quickly.

Katie bounded into Cal's lap, all giggles. "Mr. Brooks, he's so sweet!"

"It's a she," Cal corrected, standing up and holding her above his head. "Glad you're enjoying that mutt."

"Guess what? Her name's Wof," she informed him as he brought her back to eye level. "And...I got a sec-ret to tell ya," she whispered, brown eyes twinkling.

He smiled. "What?"

She gestured with one finger for him to come closer, then she cupped her hands around her mouth. "I love you!" she whispered in his ear.

He chuckled, hugging her tight. "Oh. Ya love me 'cause of the puppy."

She stroked his cheek, grinning. "Mr. Brooks?"

"Hm?"

"Can I say Cal, too?" she asked shyly. "Byron gets t' say Cal. It's no fair."

He kissed her cheek. "Sure. You can call me Cal."

"Good," she murmured delightedly, hugging his neck.

"We're gonna call her Wolf," Brian said, placing the wiggling puppy on Cloud Dancing's lap.

The wise Indian sat beside Dorothy before the fire. He looked into the puppy's eyes, nodding approvingly. "It will be a fine dog."

"Uh-huh," Katie agreed from the floor, next to Cal with her little brother in his lap.

"Wof," remarked Byron excitedly.

"Brian says Wof is my papa's puppy," added Katie.

Cal shifted uncomfortably, still uncertain if his gift for the children should be given back to Jake.

Michaela and Matthew, seated at the dining room table and chatting, grew quiet upon Katie's remark and turned toward the group. Dorothy placed her hand atop Cloud Dancing's shoulder as he nodded slowly, recalling what now seemed like ages ago.

"Many years ago, I found Sully, your 'papa', after he had been wandering in the woods for days."

"Why was he wanderin'?" spoke up Katie, rising to her knees.

"Kate, don't interrupt," Brian chastised gently.

Cloud Dancing waved his hand. "It's all right. He was lost, Katie. His heart was broken."

"Oh," whispered the little girl, sitting back down and fingering the fancy red bow in her hair.

"Oh," echoed Byron, holding Cal's thumb with one hand. He hadn't any idea what "wandering" meant, but he knew what lost was, and his mother had told him once what it meant when someone's heart "breaks".

"Go on, Cloud Dancing," encouraged Michaela from across the room as Matthew took her hand comfortingly.

"Sully stayed in my teepee for eight days and eight nights, not eating, not sleeping, not even speaking," continued the Indian. "I thought, he will not live, but I did not give up. Then on the ninth day, he and I awoke with the sun, and walked to the creek to drink. On the way, Sully saw a pup, a little wolf, his leg in a hunter's trap."

"Wolf," breathed Brian, realizing he had never asked his pa how he had found their beloved pet.

"Was it hurtin' the puppy?" Katie queried, eyes wide.

"The pup was feeling much pain," affirmed Cloud Dancing. "He had almost given up. I told Sully we should end its pain, we argued, but he would not do it. He freed the pup from the trap and brought it back to my teepee."

"Sull-wee is very nice," Byron surmised, reaching up to pat his puppy's head.

Cloud Dancing smiled and placed his hand atop the head of his brother's son. "Sully was a very good man, Byron. He had respect for all things: Indians, the white man, the land, even the little wolf. He helped the pup, it did not die, and it grew big and strong. Sully called it Wolf. They took care of each other and were best friends."

"Think my puppy's gonna grow big and strong?" asked Katie, gazing at the little runt uncertainly.

"She will," Cloud Dancing assured her, placing the puppy back in the little girl's arms.

"Sooner than you know it," Dorothy added, chuckling.

"Dr. Mike, ya all right?" Matthew asked softly, squeezing his mother's hand and looking into her eyes.

"Hm-mm," Michaela murmured, composing herself with a few deep breaths. "...Sully never told me about that," she added.

"It was a good story," he said, smiling softly. "Cloud Dancin' tells it so you can picture it just like it probably was."

"I'm glad you're here, Matthew," she told him, stroking back a stray hair from his brow.

"We're always gonna be together on Christmas, remember we promised, when we were all just kids?" he explained. He rubbed his belly. "But only if you keep roasting turkeys like the one today. I've eaten enough to last me for weeks," he joked.

"Oh," she chuckled. "Well, if Cal hadn't been here to look after the children while I tended to the turkey, no doubt things would have turned out much differently."

"Katie and Byron sure can leave ya outta breath," he agreed.

She turned her gaze to Cal. "He's so good with them...Cal."

"I like your...friend," he said, nodding approvingly.

"Matthew, he's just that. A friend," she insisted.

He lowered his voice. "Sully would like him, too, Dr. Mike."

"You think so?" she whispered, realizing that pretending she thought of Cal as only a friend was useless when talking to Matthew. He knew what she was thinking.

"I'm sure of it," he replied.

"Thank you, Matthew," she whispered. "That means a lot."

He gave her a hug. "You look so happy. I wanna see ya happy."

She nodded. "Oh, I am happy. For the first time since Sully's death, Matthew, Christmas doesn't hurt. It's only making me smile."

"That's the way we want it," he said, kissing her cheek.

"I love you," she whispered.

"Love you, too," he returned, smiling.

"Shh...shhh," Michaela soothed, stroking the whimpering puppy's head. She had tucked her beside a hot water bottle in a bed of old blankets, insistent that Wolf the second should sleep downstairs in the kitchen. Unfortunately, the pathetic creature was afraid to close her eyes all by herself in the shadowy room, and every time Michaela tried to tiptoe away to go upstairs, the puppy cried despairingly until her mistress returned to the bedside.

"Hush, little one," Michaela tried again. The puppy raised her head, gazing up at Michaela with sad brown eyes.

"Oh, you miss your family," Michaela murmured. "It isn't easy being lonely, is it?"

The puppy whimpered once more, as if agreeing.

"But it'll be morning soon," Michaela assured her, "and I'm sure the children will be up bright and early to play with you, all right?" Michaela's throat tightened. She didn't want morning to come. Cal was leaving in the morning. "Now, go to sleep, Wolf," she encouraged.

Gradually, the puppy's eyes drooped, and after several more minutes, Michaela was fairly certain she had dozed off.

"Puppy fall asleep yet?" Cal asked, approaching Michaela from behind.

"Shh," she chastised, standing up and walking to the dining room table.

"Well, I'm...I'm all packed," he said.

She buttoned the top button of her bathrobe, nodding quickly.

"...What is it, Mike? Why are you mad at me?" he asked directly, putting his hands on his hips. "Ya've been avoiding me all day."

"...The puppy. You should have asked," she stammered, turning her back to him.

"Mike, I thought you were all right with it-"

"The children are far too young for such a responsibility," she interrupted. "It needs to be fed and walked and brushed and house broken. I'll be the one doing the dirty work and they'll be the ones playing with it." She crossed her arms testily.

"I had a chat with 'em," Cal told her. "Byron's gonna be in charge of walking it, and Katie's gonna take care of the food and water. Brian's gonna help with house breaking, and they're all gonna take turns brushing it and playing with it."

"You should have asked me first," she insisted. "You had no right."

"Look, is this about Sully's wolf? 'Cause Mike, I'm real sorry about that. I really didn't know." He pursed his lips, feeling terrible.

"No, it's not about Wolf," she whispered, choking up.

"...Ya like that puppy, don't ya?" he surmised, watching the firelight bounce off her hair.

She nodded, biting her lip to keep back tears. "She's adorable."

He sighed, relieved, but troubled that he still hadn't found what was disturbing her. "...Remember ya promised to tell me...if you're ever unhappy?"

She closed her eyes. "Cal..."

He placed his hand on her shoulder, rubbing it softly. "Tell me."

She turned, slowly, drawing in her breath. "Don't go," she murmured simply.

He sighed. "I..."

"I..." she began. "I need you." She took a shaky breath. "I'm frightened of facing tomorrow, without you. What if the pain comes back?"

He cleared his throat. "You're strong now. I know you are. You're getting past that pain. When...when I leave, I won't worry about ya, 'cause I know there ain't anything that can stop ya. Ya gotta know that now, Mike."

"Cal," she said hoarsely, unable to keep back tears any longer.

"I wouldn't say that if it weren't true," he assured her, gathering her in his arms and holding her close.

"I know," Michaela whimpered, closing her eyes.

He cupped her cheeks in his hands, forcing her to look at him. "You're gonna be all right," he whispered.

She pressed her forehead to his. "You make me feel better. You've always been able to do that."

"No," he protested shyly, grasping her arm.

"Yes. I smiled for the first time since Sully's death, after hearing something you told me."

He shifted his hand up higher, to her upper arm. "You did?"

"I don't remember what you said," she admitted, "but...I remember how good it felt...to smile," she said, lip quivering as she wrapped her arms around him and tucked her head beneath his chin.

"I'll miss you, Michaela," he replied, choking up at last.

She nodded solemnly, not trusting herself to reply.

He pulled back, struck by the tears in her eyes. "I'll be leaving before sun-up tomorrow. Don't want ya getting up early to see me off, all right?"

"…Then this is goodbye," Michaela replied.

"This is goodbye," he repeated softly, the reality of it hitting him hard. Eyes locked with hers, he hesitantly stepped forward, brushing a tear from her cheek with his thumb. "Don't cry, Mike…please," he whispered. "You'll be all right. I promise..." Ever so softly, he pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was desired by both, created from a friendship, a longing, an affection that was mutual.

to be continued...


	13. Chapter 25

Chapter Twenty-Five

"Michaela," Cal murmured as they broke apart seconds later.

She opened her mouth to speak, but couldn't. They kissed again, longer, mouths becoming one as gently and timidly as experimenting schoolchildren.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, lowering his head.

She timidly looked him in the eyes. "Don't be...Cal, I haven't..." she admitted hoarsely. She had known Cal for such a short time, yet she felt as if he understood her better than most men she had ever befriended had. She had come to trust him with more than she ever thought possible. "I haven't in so long," she finished awkwardly.

He stroked her cheek. "Shh, I know...but I couldn't really tell," he said wryly.

"It felt good," she whispered boldly, a little surprised.

"As good as smiling?" he teased.

"Almost," she replied wryly.

He nodded shyly. "Michaela, I don't wanna go either, but I keep telling myself I have to. All I've been thinking is how hard it would be to leave, even before I came to visit I thought about it."

"You did?" she whispered hopefully.

He touched her nose. "Hm-mm. You're all I think about. I can't be around ya anymore...and keep hiding these feelings."

She smiled shyly. "I have feelings for you too, Cal."

"Ya do?"

"...Hm-mm." She took his hands. "I believe I just made that clear."

"I was afraid to hope..." he trailed off.

"I was afraid, too," Michaela admitted. "But...not as much anymore."

"Mike..." He bit his lip. "I've been thinking...what if I didn't leave?"

"You mean stay here in Colorado?" She hesitated. "But your stagecoach job...you've already taken so much time away from it for us."

"I know but...maybe I could find some work in town or maybe even start up something of my own...this is gonna sound crazy...I had this idea I've been kinda kicking around for a couple of years...well, almost since I first started working for Wells Fargo."

"What?" she encouraged.

"What if...what if I was to start up a streetcar business? I could start it right here in town."

"Streetcar business?" she questioned. "Like the streetcars in Denver?"

"Right, only on a much smaller scale. I'd have one or two carriages pick up people at the train station, and maybe a few more stops, and take 'em to where they want to go. Anyone can take the streetcar for a dime and go wherever they want. That's cheaper than having a horse of their own, and having to care for it and all. And streetcars would make for less mess in the streets what with fewer horses and wagons." He hadn't stopped to pause for breath, and felt a little faint. He wasn't sure if it were due to lack of oxygen, or the thrill of Michaela in his arms, gazing up at him lovingly, that crooked smile on her face, her lips flushed from the kiss. "And streetcars are more fun to ride, too, I think."

"I bet Byron would think so," Michaela chuckled. "...You'd have to get permission from the town council," she informed him, "but I'm on the council and I'd vote for it, and I know I can convince at least two others to vote in your favor."

"Yeah, you're good at convincing," he chuckled.

"You would live in Colorado," she murmured. "Permanently."

"...Yeah," he replied. "I could keep the horses at Robert E.'s if he'll let me, and build a little place to keep the records and work out the schedules, and hire people to drive the cars and care for the horses and all that. And I could sleep in the back. And someday, I'd like to build a house there." He smiled dreamily. "A big house in town where all the action is."

"Oh. I like it better out here," she whispered.

He raised his eyebrows. "Well, it works out. I can live in town and you can live out here in the forest, and I can visit you."

"Forest? They're just woods, Cal," she corrected.

He snickered. "Forest, woods, whatever ya wanna call it."

"It's beautiful," she said defensively.

He shrugged. "It's very beautiful, Mike, but if I'm running a streetcar business, I gotta live in town at the center of things."

"We're having an argument," she announced.

He chuckled. "Ain't that normal?"

"Normal?" she echoed.

He cleared his throat. "Yeah, for...for a couple I mean?"

"A couple?" she asked timidly.

He took her hand, noticing the engagement and wedding rings she continued to wear. "Michaela...would you maybe like it if I courted you?"

"Courting," she breathed. It had been so long. "...I don't want to make false promises."

"I just mean giving it a little try," he assured her. "Nothing more."

"I've thought of this so much, even practiced what I'd say," she told him softly. "I just never expected it to really happen."

Anxiously, he looked into her eyes. "What did ya practice saying?"

She took a deep breath. "That I'm willing to give it a little try." Sully would want me to be happy, Michaela thought, heart swelling. Cal certainly made her happy. He had for a long time.

Smiling, he took her hand. "Oh, Mike. I'm glad. It's like a dream."

She glanced at the clock. "It's almost midnight," she remarked.

"Christmas is almost over," Cal pointed out.

"Merry Christmas, Cal," she whispered.

He raised her hand to his lips, kissing it sweetly as the clock struck twelve. "Merry Christmas, Mike."

&&&

"What does she eats, Bian?" Katie asked of her older brother, taking a seat beside him at the kitchen table, the puppy in her arms.

Brian gave the puppy a pat on the head. "Well, let's see. We can start with some milk."

"Oatmeal, too?" Byron spoke up from the other end of the table, a heaping spoonful of porridge in hand.

"No, not oatmeal," Brian told him, rising and going to the kitchen. "Don't give it things like that, B.," he called, "but when Ma ain't lookin', you can toss her a little piece of roast beef from your dinner plate, or a turkey bone, or bacon."

"An' chocolate?" the little boy called back.

"No, B.," Brian said firmly, coming back to the table balancing a bowl filled with milk. "Never chocolate. It'll make her sick."

"Don't get sick, Wof-y. Never, ever, ever," crooned Katie, kissing the whimpering little creature on the head.

"Mama is a doc-ta," Byron reminded his older sister, as if she had somehow forgotten. "Mama will take good care of Wof, silly."

Katie thrust her tongue out at the little boy, but Byron only giggled, not offended in the least.

"Here, see if she'll try this," Brian bid, putting the bowl on the table as Katie sat the animal beside it.

Byron rose to stand on his chair so as to have a better view. "She's eatin' it!"

"She's hungry!" added Katie.

Grinning, Brian stroked the puppy's wiggling tale as it lapped up the milk. "There ya go, Wolf. Aw, you sure are cute." The children were so caught up in the puppy's antics that they didn't notice their mother until she reached the table.

"Ma," Brian croaked. "We, uh...we were just..." He was about to pick up the puppy from the table, but realized it was too late. His mother had already seen. "Absolutely no puppies on the furniture at any time," she had specifically instructed them the night before.

"Uh-oh," Byron said, carefully sinking to his bottom and lowering his eyes ashamedly, anticipating a scolding for standing on his chair, and for allowing the puppy to drink on the tabletop.

Seemingly unaware of the fact that the puppy was clearly violating the strict rules she herself had set up, Michaela only smiled as Wolf lapped up the last of her milk. "Good morning," she said cheerily.

The children looked from one to the other, dumbfounded. "...Mornin', Mama," Katie finally whispered timidly.

Michaela came to her side, giving her a warm hug and kiss. "I love you."

Katie shot a glance at Brian, eyebrows raised in question. He shrugged, biting his lip.

Michaela turned to Brian, giving him an equally warm hug. "I love you."

He cleared his throat, "Love you too, Ma," he replied softly, wondering if this was a sign a severe punishment was to follow.

Averting his eyes, Byron swung his legs nervously in his chair. As Michaela came toward him, he couldn't keep his lip from quivering. "Mama...I forgotted...I didn' mean it, but d-da puppy...I wanted t' see. I forgotted, Mama. Really."

Michaela smiled and embraced him from behind, pressing her cheek to his. "I love you, sweetheart. How's Wolf doing this morning?"

"...Good," he answered.

She kissed his cheek, and then headed to the kitchen to dish up some breakfast, humming a tune he seemed to be making up as she went along.

The children breathed sighs of relief.

"Mama ain't mad!" Katie whispered as she placed Wolf and the milk bowl on the floor.

Brian shook his head. "Guess maybe she's givin' us a second chance."

"No puppy on da table," Byron reminded them.

Still bewildered, Brian sat down to eat his breakfast, one ear tuned to his mother. He couldn't remember the last time he had heard her humming. Perhaps not since before Sully's death.

"Where is Cal?" Byron spoke up suddenly, accustomed to him joining them for breakfast each morning.

"He's leaving today, B., remember?" Brian reminded him, half wishing that Cal would stay because of how much his mother obviously liked it when he was around, and half wishing he would just go. Though Cal was a nice man, he wasn't Sully, and Brian couldn't help but think that every time he looked at the man.

Michaela's humming ceased, and she returned to the table, cheeks flushed. "Mr. Brooks...he'll be along shortly...He decided he's going to stay in Colorado a little longer."

"He did?" Brian murmured.

"Goody!" Byron declared.

"How much longer, Mama?" Katie asked, beaming.

Michaela took a seat. "Well, he...he thinks perhaps he'd like to live here."

"Live here?" said Brian. "Why?"

Michaela started to tell them she and Cal had begun courting, but couldn't seem to find the words to explain. Perhaps after a little more time's past, she thought. Then she'd sit them down and they'd have a nice long talk. Now just didn't seem like the right moment. After all, she was just getting used to the idea herself. "Well, he...he wants to start a business. A streetcar business that will drive passengers from the train station to their destinations."

"Sounds like a good idea," Brian couldn't help but admit.

"Can I ride in the stweet-car?" Byron asked excitedly, jumping down from his chair and clutching his mother's bathrobe.

Michaela picked him up and put him in her lap. "I suppose you'll have to ask Cal, but I don't see why not."

"Me, too, Mama," Katie piped up. "I never ever rided in one of them."

"Neither have I," Brian added, warming to the idea.

"I've ridden in them a few times," Michaela told them, thinking back, "once when I was in Denver for a medical conference."

"Was it lotsa fun?" questioned Katie.

Michaela chuckled. "Yes, I suppose." She placed Byron back in his chair. "But first the town council has to approve Mr. Brook's business, so that he can have permission to start building."

"Aw, Mama. No town con'sil," Byron protested, recalling many a time his mother hadn't been able to find a sitter, and had dragged he and Katie along to her meetings. How tiresome it had been, waiting in the alcove of the church until the meeting was over, with no one to play with but each other.

"Well, if it's all right with Brian, you can stay home with him and look after the puppy," Michaela offered, looking hopefully at her older son.

"Sure, Ma," Brian agreed, not interested himself in a meeting that was sure to prove unexciting.

"I want Cal to stay here, too," Katie spoke up.

"Cal will come to the meeting of course, sweetheart," Michaela informed her. "It's about him, after all."

"All right," the child sighed. "I hope town council..." She paused to think of the word.

"Passes Cal's business?" Michaela supplied.

"Yeah," giggled Katie.

"What happens if ya vote it down?" Brian said softly.

Michaela's expression sobered. "Well, then I suppose...Cal would have to go somewhere else to try to start it."

"Oh," whispered Brian.

&&&

"I don't see how it can hurt things," Loren determined in his usual gruff manner of speaking, though it was obvious he liked the idea, especially if his store might be one of the stops.

"It can only help things," Michaela added. "Mr. Brooks's business will be yet another convenience our town offers that will make it more attractive to visitors."

"I don't know," spoke up the Reverend. "I don't know if we want to attract more visitors. Things seem so crowded as it is."

"This'll reduce crowding," Cal said from his seat on the front pew, next to Dorothy.

"You're out of order," Jake reproached, tapping his gavel to his palm impatiently. Theresa was making vegetable soap and turkey sandwiches for lunch, and he was getting hungry. He didn't want the meeting to go anything past twelve o'clock.

"Then I yield to Mr. Brooks," Michaela said, giving Cal a soft smile.

Cal smiled back and stood, removing his hat. "Like I said, streetcars will reduce crowding. They'll be less horses and wagons in the street 'cause people'll take the streetcar instead."

"Gentlemen--and Michaela," Preston said, standing up from the back, "I ask how much will this good man be charging for his services?"

"You're out of order too, Preston," Jake called.

"I'd charge about a nickel or a dime a ride," Cal answered, turning slightly.

"Ha! The Chateau Hotel and Health Resort Transportation System is complementary--offered at no charge," Preston pointed out, holding his suit lapels and standing tall.

"But that's only for people goin' to your hotel," Horace pointed out. "Anyone could take your streetcar, right Mr. Brooks?"

"That's right," Cal said, smiling.

"There's nothing wrong with competition, Mr. Lodge," Michaela said.

"Well, yes, competition is the basis of our economy, but, but-" stammered Preston.

"Aw, sit down, Preston," Loren grumbled.

"I say we vote," Jake spoke up. "All in favor of Cal Brooks's business say 'aye'."

All five of the council members spoke in the affirmative.

"Opposed?" Jake went on.

"No!" Preston shouted from the back.

"You can't vote, Preston," Horace scolded. "You're not on the council."

"The motion passes unani...unanimo...uh, five to zero." Jake gave the table a knock with his gavel. "You can start building Mr. Brooks."

Cal beamed. "Great. Thanks. Thanks."

"Congratulations," Dorothy said, as a few men sitting in nearby pews shook Cal's hand. "This mean you're plannin' on stayin'?"

Cal sighed happily. "Yeah."

"Good," Dorothy said with a wry smile.

Michaela approached Cal, all smiles.

"Told you you're good at convincing," he said, putting his arm around her shyly.

She blushed, lowering her eyes. "Congratulations."

"Thanks, Mike," he said. She was so pretty when she blushed. He felt her arm come around his waist, and grinned with pure happiness.

Dorothy noticed her friends standing so close, so absorbed with one another, arms around each other. She raised her eyebrows. "So..." she spoke up.

Michaela and Cal turned to look at her bashfully. "So," replied Cal. He chuckled; Michaela blushed some more.

"Yes, Dorothy," Michaela told her friend with a smile, satisfying her curiosity.

Dorothy chuckled and took the younger woman and man's hands. "Oh, Michaela, Cal. Courtin'!"

"Who's courtin'?" Grace said, taking Robert E.'s arm and turning to face the front.

"Dorothy, shh," Michaela chided, while Cal looked at his feet, to the side, anywhere other than at the gossipy townsfolk.

"Oh, but it's so excitin'!" Dorothy exclaimed.

"Dr. Mike and Cal?" Loren observed.

"Dr. Mike and Cal!" Grace spoke while Robert E. looked about him a little embarrassed.

"Grace, now leave 'em be," her husband warned softly.

It was too late. Within a minute most of the townsfolk had gathered around Michaela and Cal, bubbling over them, wanting to know since when had they been courting, how things were, was Cal really planning on living for good in Colorado Springs, and the like. All the while Michaela and Cal stood side by side, shuffling their feet, glancing at each other from time to time, uncomfortable with all the attention, but at the same time relieved that their feelings were no longer suppressed, and wanting the world to know how they felt about each other.

Everyone was thrilled Dr. Mike had finally started to court again. She deserved happiness, and especially with a man as nice as Cal. It was about time.

to be conitnued...


	14. Chapter 26

Chapter Twenty-Six

"He surprises me with something each morning," Michaela told her best friend, eyes glazed over with blissfulness. "Little gifts: candy, chocolates, a vase once, even flowers. I don't know where he finds them."

Dorothy chuckled with delight and took Michaela's hand. "Didn't I say? I knew from the beginning Cal would be perfect for you! Oh, what else, Michaela? Tell me more." They began strolling down the vegetable display on the store porch, stopping often to fill Michaela's basket.

"Well..." Michaela blushed. "Dorothy, there really isn't much more to tell."

"Oh, of course there is!" her friend replied. "Now let's see. How are the children takin' to it?"

"The children? Well, we...we haven't exactly...told them," Michaela admitted, sniffing a tomato.

"My goodness, it's been at least a week! How are you keepin' it from them?" Dorothy questioned.

"I suppose it just hasn't come up," she replied, placing the tomato in her basket. "Things haven't really changed..." She paused. "Well, I suppose things have changed. Little things. He comes more often...we say goodnight--but in private of course." She cleared her throat. "The children haven't much reason to suspect..."

"They'll have to find out sometime," Dorothy told her. "You'd best tell them," she advised. "Oh, but they're gonna be thrilled, Michaela, I promise. You've seen them around Cal. They just adore that man."

"Yes," Michaela agreed, placing a few carrots in her basket. "But...Brian..."

"Brian?" Dorothy echoed.

"He's always liked Cal...I thought. Last week...he was upset about Byron becoming so attached to Cal. He says Byron's forgotten Sully."

"Byron never even knew Sully," Dorothy pointed out, clasping her hands. "And it's natural for a little boy like him to look up to a man like Cal."

"I know, I explained that to Brian, and he seemed to understand...but he's been behaving so strangely lately. He's not disappointed if Cal isn't around, and when Cal's there he doesn't talk with him as much as he used to. In fact he all but ignores him."

"Well, Brian hasn't had a father in three years," Dorothy pointed out. "Maybe he was gettin' used to bein' the man of the house."

"I suppose that could be it," Michaela agreed. "But Dorothy, even if he doesn't think so, he needs someone like Cal. He needs someone there for him, like Sully was. I know boys his age don't like to tell their mothers certain things. If Sully were here Brian would confide in him."

"Boys his age need a man to talk to," Dorothy agreed. "But don't let this spoil your time with Cal. Brian'll come around, Michaela. He's just gettin' used to things."

"As am I," Michaela replied, smiling as Cal and Loren appeared in the front door and approached the two ladies, as if on a mission.

"Ya think the kids want licorice or peppermint sticks?" Cal asked them, eyebrows narrowed.

"I say they favor peppermint," Loren put in, candy scoop in hand.

"I thought I saw Katie's hand in the licorice jar last week," remarked Dorothy.

"Katie and Brian like licorice, and Byron will eat whatever you give him," Michaela said, settling things.

"See, I thought so," Cal replied, patting her arm. "Thanks, darlin'. Three bags of licorice sticks please, Loren."

"What are you doing, Cal?" Michaela questioned. "The children haven't even finished their Christmas candy."

"A little more won't hurt," he replied, following Loren inside to the candy display.

"You spoil them," Michaela called.

"So do you," he retorted, turning his attention to Loren to be sure each bag was filled evenly.

"You two are just adorable!" Dorothy exclaimed giddily.

"Dorothy, please," Michaela protested.

"What's the matter?" her friend questioned.

"You're embarrassing me," Michaela scolded.

"Oh, for heaven sakes, Michaela," retorted Dorothy. "You don't think it's true?"

"We're not having this conversation, Dorothy," Michaela replied exasperatedly, gathering a few more tomatoes and then turning to go back into the store.

"See you in town," Dorothy called, grinning.

"I know, I know. I'll give it to 'em after dinner," Cal told Michaela as she entered the store to pay for the vegetables.

"Good," Michaela agreed, coming to his side. "...Oh, Cal, look," she murmured, spotting a few pairs of ice-skates on display along the back wall of the store.

"Those've been sellin' like hotcakes," Loren remarked automatically as he closed his money box and joined the couple.

"My sisters and I used to skate up and down the Charles River all winter long," Michaela told the men, eyes sparkling with the happy memory. "It was one of the few times we all seemed to get along."

Cal smiled. "That sounds like fun. I've never ice-skated before. I remember watching the grown-ups on the lake, though."

Michaela removed a pair of skates from their hook with a wry grin. "It's time I spoiled you."

He waved his hand. "Oh, no, Mike. They're too much. 'Sides, I'm sure to make a fool of myself."

Loren chuckled to himself, hands on his hips. "Yep, I bet you would."

Cal shot him a look, but Loren only smiled wider.

"Don't worry, I'll teach you," Michaela offered, selecting a smaller pair for herself and taking them to the counter. "The creek's frozen solid. Now's the perfect time. Please, Cal? I love to ice-skate. I haven't in ages."

"But...but, Mike," he protested, weakening under her pleading gaze. "...Aw, heck."

Michaela fished in her purse to pay for the vegetables and the two pairs of skates. "You made me get on that toboggan. Now it's my turn."

&&&

"Brian, do you like molasses cookies?" Jeb Dodson asked as he took a seat on the school steps beside his friend. "I'll trade ya for some of those gumdrops."

Brian studied his handful of Christmas candy. "Here, you can have a few pieces. I'll get a belly ache if I eat them all."

"Really? Thanks," Jeb said, selecting several of his favorite colors.

"Me, too. I want some," Katie piped up, appearing behind the boys and squishing herself between her brother and Jeb.

"Kate, we were talkin'," Brian scolded.

The child popped a gumdrop into her mouth and gazed up at him, not understanding his disapproval.

"Say, Brian? You wanna come over for supper sometime?" spoke up Jeb. "My pa just came back from Lincoln with a bow and arrow set for me and my brothers. Archery, he calls it. You can come over and take a turn with it."

"Yeah, sure, Jeb," replied Brian, smiling. "That sounds like fun."

"I wanna see, too," Katie piped up as she smoothed open an affectionately crumpled piece of paper she had been holding in her fist. Mama always left the best notes in her lunch pail, with little words Katie could read. Today it said: "See you at three o'clock." That was when school let out, and when Mama and Cal were going to pick them up, because it was awfully cold to walk all the way home.

"Katie," Brian groaned, embarrassed by his sister's outspokenness.

"Well, that's all right," Jeb assured them. "You can come along if you want, Katie...an' play with my baby sister I s'pose."

"Yea!" squealed Katie, mouth full with another gum drop.

"Say, why don't you bring your whole family," suggested Jeb. "Your ma and my ma could talk, an' of course that Brooks fella will come along-"

"Mr. Brooks?" Brian interrupted, raising his eyebrows. "Why would he wanna come?"

Jeb cleared his throat. "Well, yeah. I mean, he and your ma...I thought..."

"I get to say Cal," Katie put in helpfully.

Brian eyed his friend angrily. "Thought what?"

"Well, I've seen 'em about town," explained Jeb, "holdin' hands, sweet on each other. Everybody says they're courtin'."

Katie scratched her head, disconcerted. What was courting?

"They are not," Brian insisted, brow narrowing.

"But they all say-"

"No," Brian uttered. "Cal ain't comin' along with us anywhere. He's just my ma's friend.

"Now Brian, don't get sore," Jeb begged. "I'm just sayin' what I saw, and what I saw was them holdin' hands. Everybody knows nobody holds hands unless they're sweet on each other...or unless they're family, I s'pose."

"What's courtin', Brian?" Katie asked, grasping his arm.

"Somethin' ya don't gotta worry about, 'cause no one we know is doin' it," Brian said sternly. "...Ma would've told us. She would've told me." He turned his head, biting back tears.

"But what's courtin'?" Katie persisted. When Brian ignored her, she stood up. "I'll ask Teacher," she declared.

Brian grabbed her arm and pulled her back to her seat. "Katie, no. Just forget it."

The child crossed her arms, sulking.

"I'm sorry I said anything," Jeb murmured.

Brian bent his head. "They're not courtin', Jeb. My ma don't keep things like that from me. She knows I ain't a kid anymore."

"All right, all right," Jeb replied. "No one's courtin'." He patted his friend's back. "Hey...you'll still come for supper?"

Brian smiled faintly. "Yeah, I will. Thanks."

"Me, too?" Katie asked meekly.

Jeb and Brian chuckled, glanced at each other, then tickling the little girl.

"You, too," Jeb agreed as Katie burst into giggles.

&&&

"Why don't I just watch?" Cal suggested nervously, gripping the sleeves of Michaela's jacket with two clenched fists.

"You'll do fine," she assured him, holding his waist at arms length. "I won't let you go," she added.

"Does that mean if I fall you'll catch me?" he teased.

"I can't promise that, but I can try!" she chuckled.

"All right," he grumbled, "I guess I'm ready."

Slowly, Michaela skated a few feet backwards, pulling Cal along, his legs straight and stiff.

"Bend your knees," she instructed. She tilted his chin upward with one gloved finger. "And look at me, not at your feet."

He met her eyes. "This ain't so hard."

"See, I told you," Michaela replied, skating a little faster.

"Lookin' at you, I meant," he said softly.

She lowered her gaze. "You're very clever with your compliments, but focus, Cal. Please."

He narrowed his eyebrows, doing his best to oblige.

"There, you're getting it," Michaela encouraged as he brought one leg forward, then the next, achieving something close to a rhythm. She skated to his side and took his hand. "See that tree stump over there? Let's see if we can make it to it."

He squeezed her hand, smiling. "All right."

Slowly and somewhat awkwardly, the couple skated to the opposite side of the creek. "You see, you did it," Michaela exclaimed excitedly. "Isn't this fun, Cal?"

"It's not too bad," Cal agreed, legs and arms bent and stiff.

Michaela disengaged herself from his grip and skated gracefully several paces down the creek.

"Mike? Where ya going?" he called worriedly, keeping one hand on the tree stump to steady himself.

She made a smooth turnaround, facing him and holding out her hand. "Now try it on your own," she bid, grinning wryly.

"You said you weren't gonna let me go!" he moaned.

"That was before you knew how to skate," she retorted. "...Just try it."

"I don't think this is gonna go too well, Mike." Carefully, he removed his hand from the stump and stood wobbling on two feet, arms held out as if he were a bird who didn't know how to use its wings.

Michaela chuckled. "Come on. One foot first, then the other."

"I'm coming, I'm coming," he groaned. Gradually, he picked up speed, until he was traveling at a rapid though tottering pace toward Michaela.

"How do I stop?" he called. One leg jarred, and he all but lost his balance. "Whoa...Mike, how do I stop?!"

"You...you point the toe of your skate to the ice!" Michaela stammered, debating whether to try to stop Cal herself or move out of the way and let him crash. "Your right foot. Stand on your toes!"

"What do you mean stand on my toes?" he shouted back. "I'll fall if I do!"

Michaela grinned, then broke into laughter, and with a derisive thud, she crashed to the ice, Cal pinning her on her back.

She laughed even harder, smoothing back his dark locks. "Oh, Cal. Are you all right?"

He groaned, wiping his brow. "Ya forgot to teach me how to stop," he told her good-naturedly.

She chuckled. "I'm sorry. I thought you knew."

He snickered. "Thought I knew, she says."

"Perhaps ice-skating isn't your forte," she remarked. "Oh, well. I'm glad you at least tried it."

He smiled, touching her cheek with one finger. "That was fun, Mike. I'm glad you made me. I like when we...do things together."

"Me, too," she breathed.

Cal took her cheeks in his hands and kissed her tenderly, wanting her to know how much he felt the same, wanting her to know that even though it had only been a week, he was head over heals in love with her, and never wanted to spend a day without her again.

Startled by the unexpected kiss, but even more startled by how right it felt, Michaela gazed at him wide-eyed for a moment, out of breath.

"Your cheeks are cold," he murmured.

"Your whiskers," she replied, wrinkling her nose as she rubbed his cheek with her thumb. "You always have a shadow, even in the morning."

"I forget sometimes," he admitted. "'Bout shaving. I'm sorry."

She smiled shyly. "Are you going to keep me captive here all afternoon or shall we go home and warm up by the fire?" she asked.

"Aw, why didn't ya say something?" he replied, rising to his hands and knees. "Here I've been crushing ya all this time."

"I'm fine," she whispered, grinning to herself as he made his way carefully to his feet.

"I'd help you up but I think we'd end up on the ground again," he chuckled.

"I can manage," she assured him, rising with ease and taking his hand once more.

"We'll come back here, what do you say?" Cal spoke up as they skated back to their shoes, resting on the fallen log from which they had started from. "I'm gonna learn to skate perfect so's you and me can glide down this whole creek, all the way to town, and everyone will watch and say how handsome we look."

"That's quite an ambition," she said, stepping up onto the bank and sitting on the log.

"It's what you were thinking, when we started, wasn't it?" he determined, gazing at her wryly. "You were thinking ya wanted to take me to town on skates."

"Well..." she murmured. "I suppose. Someday, if we practice hard."

"All right. Someday," he chuckled, then they both quieted, letting it sink in.

Someday. That was a long time from now. That meant...a long time from now, they wanted to be together. They looked at each other, shyly at first, then burst into excited grins. Skating was fun. Courting was even better.

to be continued...


	15. Chapter 27

Chapter Twenty-seven

"You aren't getting another catarrh, are you darling?" Michaela asked her youngest son as she lifted him into the bathtub and helped him sit.

"No," Byron assured her, wooden tugboat in hand, the only toy his mother allowed in the tub. He'd been coughing on and off all night, until Michaela had gotten up, prepared him a glass of warm milk with honey, and rocked him back to sleep. She thought soaking in a hot bath might help, so that morning before anything else, she had prepared him a tub and taken him downstairs.

"How's it feel? Nice and warm?" Michaela rolled up her blouse sleeves and kneeling beside the tub.

"Good," he said, pushing his boat under the water, then releasing it and giggling as it shot to the surface. "Mama, where's Wof?" he asked, pointing at the puppy's pile of blankets, not slept on in several days. He admitted another small, dry cough.

Michaela worked up a lather of suds with the bar of soap, then massaged the bubbles up and down Byron's arms. "Last time I saw, on Brian's bed, can you believe it? I knew she wasn't going to last too long here in the kitchen."

"Puppy loves Bian," Byron reminded her with a sweet smile, steering his boat in circles while Michaela washed his chest.

"I think so, too," Michaela agreed. "But that's all right, isn't it?"

"That's all wight," Byron echoed, then sat up straight and tried to peer out the kitchen window. "When's Cal gonna be here? He late."

Michaela chuckled self-consciously. "He's not late. You can't be late if you never specified what time you're going to arrive." She touched his nose with a dollop of suds, then washed the back of his neck and behind his ears.

"But he comes every mornin'," Brian remarked solemnly from the back doorway of the kitchen, still in his night shift, hair a bit rumpled.

"Oh, Brian, I didn't realize you were awake," Michaela exclaimed as she grasped her little boy's arm. "Stand up, sweetheart, so Mama can wash your back."

"Why's he come every mornin', Ma?" Brian went on, his tone a bit accusing. He leaned against the door frame, crossing his arms. If his mother and Cal were courting, he had a right to know. He also had a right to be upset about it.

"Silly!" accused Byron, hugging his boat to his belly with two hands. "Cal likes it here."

"That's right, Cal likes it here," Michaela affirmed, running the soap bar down Byron's left leg and then his right. "He's very fond of all of us." She took a few handfuls of water and rinsed the little boy of any remaining lather, then stood up and lifted him from the tub to the floor with an exaggerated groan.

"He brought ya flowers, Ma," Brian contended softly.

"He brought us all flowers," Michaela insisted. She wrapped Byron in a thick towel as he shivered dramatically.

"Y-yeah," Byron added in support, teeth chattering.

Brian stood straight. "Well, I don't need nothin' from him. 'Sides, flowers are for girls." With that he turned back to the stairs and quickly padded up them.

It was still possible. Very possible. Cal and Ma could very well be courting, just like Jeb had said, and they were keeping it from him, as if he were a little kid no older than Katie or Byron. Brian got back under the covers, cuddling the drowsy puppy to him with one arm, a tear of anger trickling down his cheek.

"Fwowers are for girwls!" Byron accused as soon as his brother had left the room. When he received no reaction from his mother, he stuck out his lower lip and pouted.

Disconcerted by Brian's attitude, Michaela silently finished towel-drying and then dressing the little boy. She tried to think of Dorothy's advice, that Brian was getting used to things like everyone else; it would take some adjusting. But she loved her adopted son too much to carry on with Cal while he remained unhappy. She would have to tell him about Cal, about their courtship. She would have to get it over with. When Cal arrived, she'd discuss it with him first. They'd tell the children together. They'd talk with them for as long as they needed, answering their questions, doing their best to accommodate them.

It seemed Brian was suspicious of every word out of her mouth, and Michaela couldn't believe she had let it go for this long.

Cal dismounted from his horse, a contented smile on his face as he gazed up at the homestead. Mornings were wonderful. He would get up, dress and make himself presentable, and ride out to the homestead to see Michaela. It had become a habit, and one he didn't want to change.

This morning the front door opened before he even ascended the stairs, and Michaela hurried toward him, hugging her new shawl from the children to her, a distraught expression on her face.

"What's the matter?" he asked worriedly, putting his arm around her.

"We need to discuss something," she murmured, looking about her. "In private."

Bewildered, he followed her to the barn, leading his horse into a stall while Michaela paced fretfully. Cal offered the animal some oats, then circled around and took Michaela's arm. "What happened?" he persisted.

She shook her head tearfully. "I don't know...Brian...he's so angry with me."

"Mike, why?" Cal breathed, taken aback.

She shook her head once more. "He wants to know why you're here so often. We need to tell him. Katie and Byron, too."

He rubbed her arm. "About courting? All right. No reason to get upset. I s'pose now's a good time."

"What if...what if they don't like it?" Michaela questioned.

He tried to appear confident as he took her hand. "Well, we'll explain things, and in time...they'll understand. Michaela, I love those kids. I don't wanna hurt them."

She nodded. "I know."

He swallowed hard. "If they're upset...maybe..."

She took his hand. "Cal, they need you. You can't leave us."

He held her close. "Hey, who said anything about leaving?" He kissed the side of her head. "I just want everybody happy, that's all."

She nodded, closing her eyes. "Me, too."

He bit his lip, pulling back to look her in the eyes. "Are you, happy?"

She smiled coyly. "Yes, very...are you?"

He chuckled. "Yeah."

They gazed at each other for a moment, then slowly, Cal's arms encircled her waist and pressed her to him, giving her lips a gentle kiss, pulling back to look at her, then kissing her once more.

"Cal," she murmured, breathless. The feelings he stirred in her had been buried deep for several years, and now that they had been reawakened, they were spinning out of control, sending shivers up and down her spine and flushing her cheeks with longing.

"Michaela," he replied, stroking her cheek with his thumb. "You tell me, darlin'. You tell me if anything don't feel right. Promise?"

"Everything feels right so far," she whispered shyly.

He smiled, relieved. "Then does a Saturday evening dinner sound good to you? At the café?"

"Sounds wonderful," she replied sincerely.

"Oh, good," he murmured, relieved. He wanted to tell her he loved her, but was afraid of frightening her, of her reaction, of ruining what they had right now. But he did love her, he couldn't lie about that. Brow furrowed, he debated whether to say something.

"What is it?" Michaela asked, afraid she had done something wrong.

"Nothing," he assured her. "...You're very beautiful today, Mike."

She reddened, lowering her eyes.

He cleared his throat. "Um, not that you're not other days," he stammered. "I just...well, that's a pretty color on you, blue, and your hair...and I..." He trailed off, shaking his head at himself. "Don't pay any attention to me."

She smiled, standing on tiptoe and kissing his cheek. "If you'd let me get a word in, I was going to say thank you."

"Should I be more quiet, Mike?" he asked. "Because my ma was always hushing me when I was growing up. I really don't mean to, but sometimes I don't know I'm doing it. Do I talk too much? Tell me."

She chuckled. "Only when you're nervous."

"I just want things to work out," he admitted softly.

"So do I," she replied.

"...Let's not talk anymore just now," he suggested, drawing her close to him once more and bringing his lips over hers. He caressed her neck with one hand, feeling gentle vibrations as she emitted a prolonged, soft moan. Michaela stroked the stubble on his cheeks and brushed his dark locks behind his ears, and knew once more how intense a kiss could be, the sensations that conveyed passion and feeling and love, how beautiful it was.

Without realizing, Cal's hands made their way to Michaela's waist, first embracing her gentle curves, then inching upward. He felt her rib cage beneath the material, each individual rib, then with one hand, carefully cupped her breast in his palm.

She pulled back, eyes wide with surprise. "Cal...no," she whispered hoarsely, grasping his hand and shifting it back down to her waist.

"I'm sorry-" he began apologetically, but was startled by the swinging of the barn door.

"What are ya doin', Ma?" Brian demanded, throat dry with shock.

Michaela backed up against a beam, a sick feeling in her stomach. "Brian..."

"We j-just," Cal stammered. "Listen, Brian-"

The young man shook his head. "I thought you liked us," he said, glaring at Cal. "Thought ya really wanted to be our friend. I knew it. I knew it!"

"Brian," Michaela pleaded, at a loss for what to say to him.

"I do want to be your friend, son," Cal insisted, running his fingers through his hair. "I am your friend."

"You're not," Brian retorted. "Ya used me. Ya used Katie. Ya used Byron."

Utterly dismayed, Michaela hesitantly came to her son's side. "Brian, we only need to talk things over. You'll see you've been jumping to conclusions." She tried to rest her hand on his shoulder, but he pulled away angrily.

"I saw him with ya, Ma, touchin' ya," Brian replied vehemently. "Is that jumpin' to conclusions?"

Cal cleared his throat. "Listen, Brian-"

"I don't believe this," the boy murmured. "What would Sully say?" He speedily turned and jogging back to the house.

Michaela bit back tears. "Brian! Come back here!"

"Brian, come back!" Cal called. "You do what your ma says!"

"I don't have to listen to you!" Brian shot back, slamming the front door.

"Bian runs in the house, Mama," Katie informed her mother as soon as she and Cal came inside. "He runs up the stairs and in the hall and the door went bang!" She put her hands on her hips, waiting for Michaela to announce her older sibling's punishment.

"No wunning. No, no," Byron added in support, grasping Katie's sleeve.

Michaela sighed, then took a seat in one of the wing back chairs, nodding at the opposite chair for Cal to sit.

"Is he in trouble?" Katie asked quietly, coming to her mother's side and crawling up into her lap.

"No, not today," Michaela told her, stroking her hair. "Brynie, come sit with us, too."

Byron touched the end of one finger to the corner of his mouth in hesitation, then obeyed, allowing Cal to lift him up onto his knee.

"Cal and I have something to tell you," Michaela began. "It's something we probably shouldn't have kept from you for this long, but we were afraid you would be upset."

"What?" Katie prompted.

Michaela couldn't help but smile softly. "Mr. Brooks and I...we're courting."

"What cour-tin?" questioned Byron.

"We never gonna know," Katie explained with a sigh. "Somethin' only big people can know."

"It's all right for you to know what it means, sweethearts," Michaela assured them. "In fact you have a right to." She cleared her throat. "Courting is...well, you see...it's...quite difficult to explain." She glanced at Cal. "But Cal I'm sure will do a fine job of it."

Cal cast her a teasingly evil glance, then licked his lips. "Courting. Hmm. It's really pretty simple. See, when two people...when they really like being together and doing things together...well, see..."

"I love playing with the puppy," Katie put in. "That cour-tin?"

"Not exactly," Michaela began. "The two people are a man and a woman, and when they care for each other then sometimes they think perhaps they'd be very happy together, but first they try things out, and see if they really do like being together as much as they think...But of course they don't try everything out." She paused to take a breath, cheeks flushing. "Certain things are only for mommies and daddies after they've courted, fallen in love and married and are certain they're prepared for a tremendous amount of potential responsibility."

Katie scratched her head and Byron squinted his eyes.

"Cal is our daddy?" Katie finally spoke up, pointing at him.

"No, kids," Cal quickly answered, rubbing Byron's back as he gave a small cough. "Look, all it means is I think your ma is real nice and the prettiest lady I ever did see, and I want to take her places, hold her hand and give her hugs and always come over here to be with her and you kids. That's courting."

"Oh!" Byron breathed, grasping Cal's thumb with one fist. "Dat's court-in!"

"That's it?" Katie questioned, wondering what all the fuss had been about.

"That's about it," Michaela replied, relieved they were satisfied with Cal's definition.

"Mama, you no good at 'splaining," Byron informed her, sliding down from Cal's knee and grasping his hand. "Play with me, Cal."

"Push me high on the swing," bid Katie, hopping down from her mother's lap and standing in front of Byron.

"Me, too," Byron insisted, darting around his sister and hugging Cal's leg. "C'mon. Swing's outside."

Cal glanced hesitantly at Michaela. "Uh, Brian...should we go up and...?"

Michaela stood and patted his arm. "I'll speak to him. Take them outside and let them release some of this energy." She took note of her little boy reaching up for the doorknob with only his unbuttoned jacket thrown on. "Byron Calvin Sully, don't even think of going out there without your hat and mittens," she warned.

"I'll bundle 'em up good, Mike," Cal chuckled, picking up Katie and heading to the crate of winter apparel, where Byron now stood, head bent in defeat.

Satisfied the children were in good hands, Michaela, though with some uncertainty, made her way upstairs to Brian's room. She found him reclined on his side, back to the door, stroking the puppy's floppy ears as she snoozed.

Michaela sat on the bed beside him, not sure how to begin. "Brian...would you like to talk about it?"

Brian closed his eyes, shaking his head.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you about Cal and I sooner," she began guiltily. "I realize now that was a mistake and I apologize."

"That's all right," Brian murmured.

"...Do you know Cal thought I was married when he first met me?" Michaela began, tenderly stroking his hair.

"...He did?"

"Hm-mm. He could see I was with child, and so naturally he assumed I had a husband back home. Just the same he took care of me and made me feel safe, and with his help Byron was born without event. He was very brave and very kind without expecting anything in return." She paused, gathering her thoughts. "...When he doesn't know I'm nearby, I watch him with you, and your sister and brother, and I see again and again how much he truly cares for all of us."

"He's too nice," Brian said softly. "I think he wants somethin'. I guess now he's got it."

Hurt, Michaela withdrew her fingers from his hair, but gathered the strength to reply. "It might seem that way, but I know that's very far from the truth."

"How do ya know?" Brian demanded quietly.

She took a deep breath. "A few years ago, when Byron was a baby and Cal first came here, I was frightened, because I felt he and I were growing too close for what I was prepared for. I thought our relationship could be evolving into something more than a simple friendship. I thought it best he leave." She waited for Brian to piece it together.

"And he did," Brian admitted, realizing. "That's why he left."

She nodded. "Yes, he left because he didn't want to hurt me, or you, or anyone. He wanted to respect my wishes. He put the four of us before himself, and that's not something everyone would do. If Sully were here, I think they'd be friends, don't you?"

"Are ya courting 'cause he reminds ya of Pa?" Brian whispered, certain he had caught his mother off guard.

"No, Brian," Michaela replied immediately. "Cal is his own person, and it isn't fair to compare him to Sully."

"Ma, don't ya love Sully anymore?" Brian asked, his voice hoarse.

"Oh, of course I do, Brian," Michaela assured him. "Not a day goes by that I don't miss him. Allowing yourself to have new feelings doesn't mean you forget the old. That's something that's taken me awhile to accept, and something I still have difficulty coming to terms with, but I'm learning. We're all learning."

"Then ya love him," Brian concluded.

She paused for a long moment. "Well, I'm not quite certain. I do know I enjoy spending time with Cal, and courting is a way for both of us to find out if what we have is truly love."

Brian remained silent for a long moment, and eventually Michaela realized he was crying. She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tight. "Oh, sweetheart. It's all right. It still hurts, I know."

He rubbed his eyes, set aside his pride and turned, hugging his mother back. "Ma, I just...I don't think I could take seein' ya hurt again. I couldn't stand it. Don't make me see ya hurt."

She kissed his cheek comfortingly. "Oh, Brian. I truly appreciate that, but no one person can shield someone from the pain life brings, and if they try, they could end up shielding them from happiness, too. It was terribly painful to lose Sully, but had I never met him, I would be much worse off, never marrying him, or adopting you and Colleen, or having Katie and Byron. I can't imagine it."

He swallowed hard, having never considered that.

"To hurt, you must first love," Michaela went on. "Deciding to try to love again has been a hard choice for me to make, because I'm very frightened of the hurt, just like you."

"I can't help it, Ma," he murmured, hugging her tighter and squeezing his eyes shut. "I wanna be brave."

"It's difficult, I know," she admitted, "and we have to take it little by little." She pressed her lips to his hair. "How about you help me, and I'll help you?"

He nodded. "All right."

"Brian, you don't have to do things with Cal if you don't want to, in fact you don't even have to be his friend, but I want you to be civil to him, just as you would be to anyone."

"Then I'd best apologize for talkin' back," Brian whispered.

"I think that'd be a very good start," Michaela replied, proud of him. "And maybe...instead of getting angry, you can come to me and tell me what's bothering you. If you think someone's trying to hurt me, I want you to say something." She kissed his head. "Brian, do you truly believe Cal is taking advantage of you and me and the younger children?"

He shook his head slowly. "No, Ma." He paused. "But if ever I think he might be, I can come tell ya?"

"Of course," she assured him. "There isn't anything you should feel you have to keep from me. You can talk to Cal, too, Brian. He cares about you, and he's here to listen."

"I don't have to be his friend?" Brian said, sitting up.

Michaela stroked his hair behind his ears. "No, not if you don't want to."

"Michaela!"

Startled, Brian and Michaela broke apart, quickly rushing to the bedroom window.

"What's wrong?" Brian questioned, grasping the window ledge as he observed Cal, kneeling in front of Byron, who was covering his mouth, apparently coughing again.

Without further hesitation Michaela lifted her skirts, raced down the stairs and outside, reaching the little boy in a matter of seconds, Brian right behind her.

"What is it, Byron?" Michaela asked him frantically, stooping to his level and rubbing his back as he gave a series of hacking coughs, unable to reply.

"He's coughin'!" Katie informed her mother, seated unmoving on the swing, fearful for her little brother as much as anyone.

"I was just pushing Katie," Cal said, rubbing the little boy's chest nervously. "Byron was running around, chasing a chicken or something. That's all."

"A ch-chicken," Byron managed to choke out, clearly not as concerned as everyone else.

Michaela rubbed his back, relieved he could at last speak. "Shh, darling. Take some short breaths. You'll be all right."

"It's just a catarrh, right, Ma?" Brian asked, voice hoarse with worry.

Michaela felt the little boy's forehead and his thyroid glands, brow creased. "He doesn't have a fever."

"I all wight, Mama," Byron assured her. "I just cough...coughin'."

"I'm sorry, Mike," Cal murmured guiltily.

"That's all right," Michaela replied quickly, picking her son up and kissing his head. "I think it's time to play something quiet inside, sweetheart. And I'll make you some more warm milk and honey."

"No, Mama," he begged tearfully. "Wanna swing out here. No."

Cal stood up, taking Katie's hand. "Hey, we can have fun inside, Squirt. I'll...I'll teach ya a game." He noted Michaela's worried expression. "It's a sit-down card game, but it's real fun and easy. We can all play."

Michaela nodded her approval, and led the way inside, cradling Byron protectively.

2nd of January, 1876  
Dear Momma,

Merry Christmas again. I miss all of you, I think about you, but I had a very good holiday with Michaela and her family and friends. They don't treat me like a visitor any more, but like an old friend. I feel at home here.

Momma, I have good news. You probably know I've loved Mike--Michaela, for a long time. I finally worked up the courage to ask to court her, and she said yes. So we're courting. I've thought about it for years now, and I've decided I want to live in Colorado Springs, with Michaela. I never want to lose her again. I'll still come visit you as much as I can, don't you worry.

Michaela really is an angel, Momma. You would love her, too. I want you to meet someday, maybe soon.

Love,

Cal

3rd of January, 1876  
Dearest Rebecca,

I hope your Christmas holiday was as agreeable as ours. Brian, Katie, and little Byron loved the presents that arrived from Boston just in time. Byron's still trying to get his top from his cousins to spin. I told the children "A Christmas Story", and thought of all of us when we were little girls gathered around Father's feet. Remember he would read to us from Dickens every Christmas Eve? Those were happy times.

I can't help thinking this is the fourth Christmas without my husband, but a new realization has come over me the past few weeks. I'll always miss Sully, and love him with my entire being, but I cannot protect myself from feeling for any longer. I can no longer deny how much I care for Cal Brooks, the only other survivor of the stagecoach accident so long ago. He saved my life, not only rescuing me from the accident, but from my despair at losing Sully. I care for Cal very much, and I know this may come as a surprise, but we've agreed to court. Granted, it's taken some getting used to, but I can truly say I'm very content.

I ask that you not mention Cal to Mother just yet. I fear she will express her immediate dislike of him, as she has to most of my beaus. Mother would no doubt be unhappy with every suitor other than the highest of Boston society. I want Cal and Mother to meet in person. I'm sure once they do she will see him for the wonderful man he truly is. For now, I'd like to keep things quiet.

Give my love to all.

Love,

Michaela


	16. Chapter 28

Chapter Twenty-eight

Cal smoothed his hair one last time, straightened his tie, and knocked on the front door of the homestead.

Almost immediately the door flew open, revealing Katie and Byron, all smiles.

"Evening," said Cal, stooping to their level. He fluttered his eyelashes, donning a formal tone. "Is the lady of the house ready to join me for dinner tonight?"

The children giggled, covering the mouths as Brian came behind them, schoolbook in hand. "Ma ain't ready yet," he informed him coolly, then returned to the table and opened his book to a marked page.

"Come in," Byron bid, pushing the door open wider, as he had seen his mother do so often for guests.

"Thanks, Squirt," Cal replied, tousling his hair and entering, shutting the door behind him. "Well, that's a woman for ya. Takes forever to get ready."

"Mama is smelling awful funny," Katie informed him.

Byron sniffed the air. "Smells funny," he agreed.

"That's perfume," Brian replied. He paused. "You wouldn't remember...Ma used to wear it all the time."

Cal cleared his throat, busying himself with brushing his sleeves off once more.

"Brian is gonna play with us here when you go eat," Katie spoke up, the awkwardness between Cal and her older brother slipping past her unnoticed.

"Well, that's real nice of him," Cal replied.

"I gonna say to Mama Cal is here!" Byron suddenly burst out, literally running for the stairs. He wasn't quite sure what this business with dinner at the café was about, but everyone else seemed excited about it, except for maybe Brian, and so he decided he should be excited, too.

Katie giggled, shaking her head at Cal's starched suit, slicked back hair, and neat tie. "You look pretty!" she told him.

"I do?" Cal chuckled. "Well, thanks. I got myself a new tie, and went to Jake's for a haircut..." He stroked his cheeks with his fingers. "And...Oh, no."

"What?" Katie asked fearfully.

Brian glanced up from his book.

"I plum forgot to ask for a shave, too," Cal murmured, upset with himself.

"Oh, no," Katie murmured forlornly, though she didn't understand what the problem was with that. Lots of boys had beards.

Cal pulled out a chair at the far end of the table and sunk into it. "Your mama...she's always reminding me about the whiskers."

Brian looked at him for a moment, then tentatively rose from the table and disappeared upstairs without a word. He returned a minute later with a small bowl, a bar of soap, a brush, a bottle of bay rum, a mirror, and a razor. Silently, he placed it in front of Cal, then returned to his seat.

Bewildered, Cal picked up the razor, opening it and gazing at the shiny blade. "Brian..."

"Go ahead," the boy murmured, opening his book once more. "I don't really use it that much. 'Sides, ya can't take Ma out to dinner without shavin' first."

Cal stood up, placing his hand on the boy's shoulder. "Thanks. Ya didn't have to."

Brian looked up, shrugged. "That's all right."

"Thank you," Cal said again, heading to the kitchen.

"Why do you got a razor, Brian? You don't got any whiskers," Katie accused, sitting herself on Brian's lap and rubbing his cheeks.

"Course I do," Brian retorted, concentrating on his book.

"Where are they then?" Katie asked skeptically.

"I shave 'em away," Brian said, tickling her.

"Brian, you still gonna teach me checkers?"

He smiled. "Sure I will. You get the board out and I'll be there in a second to help set it up, all right?"

She returned the smile. "All right."

Cal dipped the razor in the basin he had placed on the kitchen counter, then ran it carefully down his upper lip. "I love you, Mike," he practiced. He held up the hand mirror and examined his work, shaking his head and rinsing the razor again. "Mike, I love you." It had been one month since he and Michaela had begun their courtship, and to celebrate they were going to have a steak dinner at Grace's, just the two of them. A candlelit dinner. Cal really couldn't afford it, now that he had to save every penny to start his streetcar business, but it would be worth being set back a little. "Michaela, I love you."

"Who ya talkin' to?"

Cal was so startled he nearly nicked his chin. Coughing, he placed the razor on the counter and looked down. "Byron! How long ya been standing there, little guy?" He patted the child's shoulder.

"Who ya talkin' to?" Byron repeated patiently.

Cal bent and hoisted him onto the counter. "I was practicing. Gonna try and tell your mama something special tonight."

"Oh." Byron looked up at him, fascinated by the scrape of the razor against his face. He wondered if it was hurting Cal. He wondered what it felt like.

"Are ya shavin'?" Byron asked after a time, pointing at the man's cheeks.

"Yep, gettin' rid of my whiskers," Cal explained. "I don't think your Mama likes 'em."

Byron patted his own smooth, baby-soft cheeks, feeling for any traces of a beard.

Cal chuckled. "Wanna try?"

"Really?" Byron said excitedly.

Cal worked up a lather in his bowl with the brush, then applied the suds to the sides of Byron's face, his chin and his upper lip. Giggling, the little boy reached for the razor. "Uh, hold on. You get your own special one," Cal said, placing the razor aside, opening the drawer next to him, and pulling out a spoon. "Now hold real still so's I don't nick ya," he instructed. He ran the handle of the spoon carefully down Byron's cheek, then rinsed it and repeated the process until he had removed all traces of soap from the little boy's face. "There! Smooth as a baby's bottom!" Cal exclaimed.

Byron felt his face proudly. "No more scratchy," he announced, beaming.

Cal picked up the bottle of bay rum, placed his palm over the top, and tipped it upside down briefly. "One more thing." He patted Byron's cheeks with the scent, then patted his own cheeks. "Now we smell handsome, too."

Byron sniffed dramatically, then wrinkled his nose. He coughed hard several times, then sneezed.

"Byron? Ya all right?" Cal asked worriedly, rubbing his back.

"Yep," Byron assured him, eyes tearing from the strain of it.

Unnoticed, Brian watched Cal interact with his younger brother. Folding his arms, he leaned against the frame of the back door. He had to admit his mother was right. Cal sure was good with the little boy. Maybe he really did care about him.

Brian heard the steps creaking and cleared his throat. "Ma's comin', Cal," he spoke.

Surprised, Cal glanced at him. "Oh, she is? All right." He placed Byron on the floor and sent him off with a pat on his bottom, then stood straight and took a few deep breaths. Smoothing his hair one last time, he made his way to the stairs, just in time to take Michaela's hand as she descended the last step.

"You look...you're beautiful," Cal murmured. Her hair was piled atop her head, with soft waves framing her face. She wore a navy blue gown with an intricate bodice. Though too fancy for a regular day, the attire was simple enough for an evening at Grace's.

"You smell like...bay rum," she replied, eyebrows raised in interest.

He winked. "Thanks to Brian."

She smiled. "I'm ready."

He escorted her to the door. "Your carriage awaits."

"So we hid those critters in her desk," Cal chuckled, "And..." He swiped tears of laughter from his eyes.

"Oh, no," Michaela muttered, amused. The vacant café, dripping candles, champagne and steak dinner had created a romantic, dream-like atmosphere that seemed to make Cal's tales of insects and childhood pranks out of place. Just the same Michaela couldn't stop chuckling. No one could tell a story as good as Cal Brooks.

"And she goes to open it...and you could hear her screams from a mile away."

"You were terrible," she scolded good-naturedly, finishing off the last few bites of steak.

"Well, it wasn't all me," Cal replied with a grin. "That one wasn't even my idea." He shook his head. "I s'pose we were pretty bad. We'd get together and come up with all sorts of tricks." He sombered. "It helped. If we were laughing, then we weren't missing home."

Michaela nodded sympathetically. "It must have been lonely all the way across the ocean with your family back here." She dabbed at the corners of her mouth with her red-checked napkin.

He shrugged. "Yeah. It was hard to make friends there. Weren't many Americans at that school."

She took his hand across the table. "I don't think I could do that, send my children so far away."

"I couldn't either," he admitted. "That is, if I had kids. I'd want 'em home with me and their mother." He smiled. "I'd like some someday. Some children."

She released his hand, taken off guard. "Oh?"

"Spending all this time with yours," he explained, "helped me see that's what I've always wanted. Someday, I s'pose."

She cleared her throat. "Oh."

They shared an awkward silence for a moment, then Cal pulled his napkin from his shirt collar and set it on the table. "Well, that was good, wasn't it?"

Relieved the conversation had turned to something much easier to make small talk about, Michaela breathed a sigh. "Yes, very."

Say it, Cal told himself. Spit it out. Tell her. Say, I love you. It's easy. Cal rubbed his head. "Mike...I uh..." He had always been good at procrastinating. "Look, awhile back...I wanna apologize."

"For what?" she questioned curiously.

He sat forward. "For what? Oh well, that day we were in the barn...when Brian...I did something ya didn't like."

She stared at him confused for a moment, then drew in her breath, recalling his gentle hand moving its way up her torso. "Oh...Cal...that's all right."

He waved his hand. "No, I knew better. Mike, I just, I...I don't want to ever say or do a single thing ya don't like. I wanna be perfect for ya."

"Oh, Cal. It's not that I didn't...like it. I can't believe we're talking about this."

He raised his eyebrows. "Then you...then you did like it?"

She blushed. "Cal, until I married Sully...I'd...I'd never been with anyone."

Cal raised his eyebrows, mildly surprised. "Ya must of been beating off men."

She bent her head. "Not really. They used to say I wore the pants: following in my father's footsteps, attending college and earning my medical degree, moving out West on my own...there wasn't time for...nor did anyone seem to be interested."

He smiled, taking her hand. "What do you think now?"

"About what?" she asked innocently, taking in a short breath.

"Well...about loving somebody ya care for," he probed, searching her eyes. "Being with 'em."

She released his hand. "I think it's...it's a sacred covenant between a man and a woman who are devoted to one another and who exist in a legal state of matrimony." She drew in her breath.

Cal raised his eyebrows. "Come again?"

She closed her eyes. "I don't believe people should...be with one another--or anything of the sort before marriage."

"You could've said something before. I would've understood, Mike," he assured her.

She frowned. "Well, I don't usually talk about these kinds of things."

"Me neither. I just do it."

Her eyes widened in horror.

He coughed. "I mean...when I was younger. Mike, I ain't had eyes for anyone since I met you." He took her hand. "Trust me."

She smiled. "I trust you, Cal." She hesitated. "You've...?"

He shrugged. "Had a few girls when I was studying banking with Pa. They let me do things...any young man would jump at the chance. I sure regret it now, though." His expression turned sorrowful.

"What is it?" she asked.

He cleared his throat. "The day I moved from Chicago...couple weeks after my pa died...I uh, paid a visit to a brothel. Looking for something to take away my grief, I s'pose. It was strange, being with one of those girls and not even knowing their last name...didn't do that ever again after that. Then working for the Stagecoach there wasn't much opportunity to meet women."

"Cal, there's many things I believe strongly about."

"I know. I like that," he murmured, squeezing her knee beneath the table.

She smiled shyly. "I'm not one of those girls you knew when you were young," she whispered resolutely.

"Michaela," he said, amused, "I'm courting exactly who you are...and I don't wanna court anybody else." He stood up and came to her side, caressing her cheek.

"You aren't going to go away?" she asked. "Never speak to me again?"

"Not a chance," Cal replied. "And I think you an' me..." He stroked back her hair. "...can have fun, just the same. "

"Cal," she protested. He was good at joking with her, and though it often made her blush, he was charming, and Michaela liked him. She liked that he wasn't angry or impatient with her when she told him about waiting and how important it was to her. He understood, and teased her to let her know it.

She pressed his hand to her cheek. "Thank you."

"Thank you for keeping me an honest man. That's what I want, Mike. Truly." He continued stroking her hair. "...I remember the first time I saw you."

She lowered her eyes. "That was a difficult time. I was lost."

"Think that time's passed?"

She nodded slowly. "I hope so."

He took her hand and brought her to her feet. "Is it time to dance now?" he whispered, putting one hand on her waist and threading his fingers with hers.

"Time to dance?" she echoed.

Cal held up one finger, grinning wryly. "Mr. Bray!" he called softly. "Now, Mr. Bray!"

A moment later Loren, followed by two other men from town, one carrying a fiddle and the other a small guitar, arranged themselves at one end of the café.

"What's this?" Michaela questioned.

"It's...our music," Cal replied. "Go on," he called, nodding at the men.

"What are we s'posed to play?" grumbled Loren.

"I told ya ten times," Cal scolded under his breath. "A waltz."

"I don't know any waltzes," Loren called back. "All's I know is Jingle Bells and Beautiful Dreamer. Can't believe I let ya talk me into this," he muttered.

Michaela chuckled. "Beautiful Dreamer would make a lovely waltz."

Cal drew her closer, winking at Grace who was looking on with a big grin from the kitchen. "All right then, Beautiful Dreamer it is."

"I think I've forgotten how," Michaela murmured as a sweet rendition of the tune began.

Cal looked into her eyes. "You remember...One, two, three. One, two, three." Tentatively, they took a few steps, and soon achieved a steady, flowing rhythm, eyes locked.

"Feels good to dance?" Cal asked.

"Yes," she replied, cheeks flushed.

"Glad you came?"

"Very," she breathed. She eyed his smooth cheeks with a wry smile.

"What is it?" Cal asked. "I got something on my face?"

She shook her head. "No. It's just, you've shaved."

"Ya noticed?" he replied.

"Of course I noticed," she chuckled. "You're very handsome when you're clean-shaven. It makes you look younger."

He smiled. "Well, I tried."

"...Cal, can I ask how old you are?"

He stuck out his lower lip. "Eighteen and a half."

She frowned. "Seriously."

He kissed her quickly. "Thirty-seven, why?"

"Thirty-seven," she echoed thoughtfully.

"How old are you?" he asked. "No wait, let me guess."

"Don't tease me any more," she begged.

He tried to restrain himself, to no avail. "All right. Hmm. At least twenty."

"Forty-two," she told him. "Is that...?"

He let out a long breath. "Yeah, that's gonna be a problem."

She tensed in his arms. "Cal...?"

"Yeah, see, women that don't look their age make me nervous."

She realized he was teasing, again. She liked it, but she didn't. She didn't know what to think, how to react.

"I'd feel much better if you had a few gray hairs," he told her. "But seeing as ya don't...well, I guess we'll have to make the best of things."

"You don't mind," she breathed, relieved.

He chuckled. "Like I said, I like you for who you are. I don't want ya to be any different than Michaela Quinn Sully."

She sighed contently. She thought she might love him. Love was a strong word.

"So, what do you think of courting so far?" Cal asked.

"I think...I've never courted anyone like you," she informed him.

"And I, Dr. Mike, am thinking the same thing."

January 28th, 1876  
Dearest Michaela,

I am so delighted by your news. Mr. Brooks sounds like such a good man for you, and I hope you continue to make each other very happy.

Upon your request I have not mentioned a word of this gentleman to Mother, though somehow she always knows when I've received a reply from you, and wants me to recite every last word. Write to her more often, Michaela, please, and spare me some grief!

You say you'd like Mother and Mr. Brooks to meet. I think that's a wonderful idea. We haven't seen you in so long, and I know I'm dying to meet him as well. Come out for a visit, at the very latest this Spring. Bring the entire family. We miss you all.

Love,  
Rebecca

Michaela looped the puppy's leash around her wrist and took Byron's hand. "Hold Mama's hand in the street, darling."

"Mama, your tuwn," he reminded her, eager to continue the game they had begun a few minutes before, after walking Katie and Brian to school.

"Let's see," she began. "I spy...something...blue."

"Some-tin blue," Byron echoed pensively, looking around. "Da...da sky?"

"The sky! You're right!" Michaela replied. "How did you guess that so quickly?"

He put his free hand on his hip. "Too, too easy, Mama," he accused.

"I'm sorry," she chuckled. "Now you're turn."

"I spy," Byron said, tapping his chin. "Hmm...somethin' gween!"

"Something green," Michaela repeated. "The grass?"

"Nope."

The puppy barked abruptly at an old dog wandering in the street, and Michaela had to pull the leash hard to get her to move on. "Hush, Wolf. All right, not the grass. The trees?"

"Nope," the little boy giggled, shaking his head.

"I don't know then!" Michaela admitted.

"Mama, sometin' gween," he encouraged impatiently.

Michaela sighed, glancing around. "Let's see." She smoothed her skirts. "Not my dress?"

"No," he exclaimed exasperatedly.

"I give up!" Michaela replied, tousling his hair.

Byron grinned. "That!" he enthusiastically announced, pointing at the sign above her clinic.

"My sign! Why, you're right, it is green," Michaela replied, tying the puppy's leash to the bench on the porch and then returning to her son. "What does it say, Brynie? Do you know?"

"Um..." He narrowed his eyebrows, studying the gold letters. "...Mama's a doc-ta."

"Close." She picked him up and kissed his cheek, then pointed to each word in turn. "Medical Clinic. Dr. Michaela Quinn, M.D."

"What M-dee?" he questioned.

"Degree of Medicine. It means I went to school for a long time to learn to be a doctor. Not many ladies have it. I was very proud when I earned it."

"Why not no lay-dies?" he persisted curiously.

"That's a very good question, sweetheart," she replied.

"Mike!" Cal called, a grin on his face as he approached the two. He took Byron from her and lifted him in the air, shaking him a little. "How are you this fine morning, Squirt?"

Byron giggled, hugging Cal's neck as he brought him back to eye level. "Good," the little boy told him.

"Mike, I've been wiring this construction company, up in Pueblo. They'll build me a little building to keep records and things--you know, for my streetcar business--and they'll put a place in back to store the buggies. A little shed I guess. Made me an offer I just couldn't pass up."

"Sounds wonderful," Michaela replied. "When do they start?"

"Well, not right away," he admitted. "When it gets a little warmer. Around March they said. It ain't gonna be that big of a building. It'll only take a few weeks or so to get up, and I'm gonna help, too. I'm gonna be up and running 'fore you can say Jack Rabbit."

"Jack Wabbit!" squeaked Byron.

"I'm so proud of you, Cal," Michaela told him as he took her hand.

He smiled. "Let's celebrate. Feel up to some pie from Grace's?"

Michaela's grin faded. "I have patients all morning. I'm sorry. Maybe for lunch?"

"For lunch then, sure," he agreed, disappointed, but willing to wait.

Byron sighed disgruntedly. "All mornin', Mama? Who I gonna play with?"

Michaela patted his back. "I know, sweetheart. I promise after lunch we'll take a walk and visit Brian and Katie. They'll be having their recess about then."

"I wanna play wid Miz Gwace," he begged.

"Sweetheart, Miss Grace is a very busy lady," Michaela explained, retrieving her key from her purse and unlocking the door. "It isn't fair to ask her to keep you company every single day. I'm sure she wouldn't mind if only she didn't have the cafe to run."

"Mama, I can help," he told her. "I help cook good. Miz Gwace says."

"I'll take the little guy," Cal offered, stepping up onto the porch.

"Yeah!" squealed Byron. "Cal, you can play wid me and we gonna have fun, Cal. 'Kay?"

Michaela removed her 'closed' sign, turning to face him. "Cal, you don't have to. I certainly didn't mean to imply-"

He smiled, stooping down and untying the puppy's leash. "I'll take Wolf here, too. We'll make a day of it. You don't worry about a thing except looking after those patients."

Michaela couldn't refuse, not after seeing Byron's ecstatic expression. "Well...I suppose. But don't let him wander too far out of your sight, and he shouldn't over exert himself with that cough...and keep his jacket buttoned and his mittens on. He seems to be nearly over that catarrh and I certainly don't want him coming down with something new."

"Maybe I should write this down," Cal teased. He gave Michaela's hand a reassuring kiss. "We'll pick ya up at noon for lunch, how's that sound?"

"Goody!" Byron exclaimed. "Cal, we can go pet horsies at Wobert E. an' go see Miz Gwace an' play fun stuff an' play wid the puppy an'...an' play an'..."

Cal laughed, hoisting the little boy onto his shoulders as he headed down the street. "One thing at a time, Squirt. Wave bye to Mama, all right?"

Byron gave his chuckling mother a brief wave, then returned his attention back to Cal, clasping his arms around the man's neck. "Cal, this is gonna be fun, fun, fun. Go faster, Cal."

to be continued...


	17. Chapter 29

Chapter Twenty-nine

"Then the message goes along that wire," Cal went on, pointing upward, "and into Mr. Bing's office here, and it comes out in little taps that are letters. You can send a message to your friends even if they live all the way across the country--in New York, say--and they can read it and send a message back."

Byron stared up at the telegraph wire, mouth agape, fascinated. "What 'York, Cal?" he asked.

"New York? It's...it's a city, like Colorado Springs, real far away from here. A real long train ride," Cal explained.

"Who my friend in 'York?" questioned the little boy curiously.

"Well, that was just an example, Squirt." He chuckled. "...Don't worry about it."

"Here ya go, Cal," piped up Horace, appearing in the office window and handing Cal an envelope. "That's all that came for ya today."

Cal smiled at the return address. "Thanks, Horace."

"Let's play now, Cal," spoke up Byron, tugging at the ends of Cal's jacket.

"All right. To the meadow," replied Cal, taking the little boy's hand.

&&&

31 January, 1876  
Dearest Cal,

That is truly wonderful news! Michaela does sound like an angel, and I'm so happy you're courting, even if it took you three years before you opened your mouth and said something to her! You're just like your father, God rest his soul.

I must meet this woman you're so obviously spinning over. No more talk of visiting. Let's choose a date and make plans. In the Spring or earlier if possible, I want you to bring Michaela and of course her children to Chicago. I love them already.

Love,  
Momma

Cal folded the letter and carefully slid it back into the envelope. He would love for Michaela to meet his mother, but hesitated for no other reason than the cost. Nearly all of his savings would have to be spent to get the streetcar business off the ground. That left little to spare for five train tickets all the way to Chicago and back. He supposed Byron and Katie could sit on his and Michaela's laps, or even Brian's, but that would make for an awfully long train ride, and still left three tickets to pay for. He scratched his head. He could always...send Michaela and the children up without him. But that wouldn't be right. He needed to be there to introduce them, to show them around, show Michaela his schoolbooks, pictures from London, the tree he had built his tree house in, the boats on the lake. He sighed. He might be able to come up with the money for two tickets, one for himself and one for Michaela. He felt terrible leaving the children out, but it looked as though it couldn't helped.

Sighing, Cal placed the envelope in his coat pocket and looked up to see Byron, chasing the puppy around and around the meadow. The child was adorable: his elated grin, awkward legs, and swaying arms, all struggling to keep up with the frisky, inexhaustible puppy.

"Byron, come here, son," Cal finally called, jogging to him, catching the puppy with ease, and kneeling to the little boy's level. "I'm all tuckered out just watching ya, Squirt." He attached the leather leash to the panting puppy's collar.

"I wanna...wanna chase a...again," Byron said, cheeks flushed, out of breath.

"Puppy's tuckered out, too," Cal explained.

Byron tugged at the buttons of his jacket, brow furrowed. "Cal, I's hot," he said. "Can't...can't get this."

Cal sighed. "Your mama says I gotta keep ya buttoned. Sorry, little guy."

"Cal, pease?" he begged, looking up at him with frustrated eyes. "I's hot."

Grumbling, Cal looped the puppy's leash around his wrist and helped Byron remove his jacket, much to the little boy's relief. "But it's all your fault if Mama gets mad," Cal told him, folding the jacket and tucking it under his arm. "And at least leave your hat and mittens on." He took Byron's hand. "Come on. Let's go say hello to Robert E."

They crossed the bridge and headed into town, Cal having to take small steps in order for the little boy to keep up. Finally Cal stopped, stooping down.

Byron's breathing was quick, labored, but he didn't seem to be paying much mind. He smiled at Cal and squeezed his hand. "I gonna pet...pet the horsies," he told him.

"Sure. Hey, how 'bout I give you a piggy back ride the rest of the way? Hm?" He turned and hoisted Byron onto his back with one hand. "Hold on tight. Now you catch your breath and we'll be at Robert E's in a jiffy."

Cal walked slower than usual, to give Byron more time to recover, and a few minutes later they arrived at the livery. He helped the little boy climb up onto the first rail of the corral fence so he could reach the horses, then tied the puppy to a post and leaned against it, slinging the jacket over his shoulder.

"Dr. Mike trick ya into taking him for the day?" Robert E. said wryly, feeding his fire.

Cal shot a glance at the child. "I tell ya Robert E., she had to get down on her knees. 'Please, please look after my Byron,' she says. 'Nobody else will do it, on account he gives everybody such trouble.'"

"I not trouble, Cal!" Byron spoke up defensively, turning his head back, one hand continuing to stroke a chestnut mare's wet nose.

Cal chuckled. "We're just teasing ya, Squirt."

Byron giggled. "Teasin'." He went back to the mare. "You a han-some horsey."

"How's this streetcar idea of yours comin'?" Robert E. asked, gripping a horseshoe with a long pair of tongs and placing it in the red-hot fire.

"Gonna start building in March," Cal informed him proudly. "If you're still willing, I'd like to keep the horses here."

"Be glad to," Robert E. affirmed. "Anything else I can help ya with, ya let me know."

"Thanks," Cal said gratefully.

"Robert E.," Dorothy called, approaching the men. "Oh, Cal. I didn't expect to see you here."

He smiled. "Morning, Miss Dorothy."

Dorothy opened her fist to reveal one of the type letters she used to print her newspaper. "Robert E., I don't know what happened, but this letter is all of a sudden printin' out crooked. It's the capital 'A'."

Robert E. took it from her with a gloved hand and held it up to the light, Cal looking over his shoulder. "Looks straight to me," Robert E. told her.

"Could be a problem with the press," suggested Cal.

Dorothy nodded. "Well, I never thought of that. I s'pose I'll have to give it another try."

"I'll come over and take a look at it this afternoon," offered Robert E, giving the letter back and picking up his mallet. "Once I finish these last few shoes." He braced the fiery-orange end of the horseshoe on the anvil and pounded it a few times.

"Thank you, Robert E." Dorothy turned to Cal, grinning. "Cal, this streetcar business is such good news for our town," she exclaimed, gripping her pad. "I'd love to do an article about it for the Gazette. You tell me when you're not busy and I'll interview you."

"Cal!" Byron called.

"Just a minute, Squirt," Cal returned. "A story about my business?" he breathed. "You'd really put that in your paper, Miss Dorothy?"

"Of course I would," Dorothy chuckled. "Human interest stories, they call 'em in the Denver Post."

"Human interest," Cal echoed thoughtfully. He was startled by a loud gasp, and turned quickly to see Byron, sliding down from the corral fence and falling to the ground. Dropping the jacket, he ran to the boy, picking him up, Dorothy and Robert E. right behind him.

"Squirt, did ya fall?" he demanded, cradling him in his lap. The little boy inhaled once more, a strained, harsh breath that frightened Cal even more.

"Cal," Byron burst out hoarsely, eyes frantic.

"What is it?" Cal shouted fearfully, panic across his features.

Robert E. gripped Cal's arms and got him to his feet with the boy in his arms. "Let's get him to Dr. Mike's!"

"Hurry! Get him to Michaela!" Dorothy agreed.

"Get him...get him to Michaela," Cal echoed, terrified, willing his legs to move.

"C-can't...can't..." Byron choked, eyes tearing, his chest heaving up and down. "...Cal!"

Without a moment's further hesitation, Cal ran. He held Byron protectively against his chest and took off down the street, reaching the clinic within moments.

&&&

"Thank you, Mrs. Shelley," Michaela said as her patient gave her a jar of preserved pickles in payment for treatment of an infected blister.

"Now that recipe's been passed down through the generations," the elderly woman told her proudly. "My Great Aunt Selma, I remember I was no more than five or six and helping her can pickles. It takes days and days you know."

"Thank you," Michaela said impatiently, realizing it would only be a few more minutes until her next patient, and then after that, lunch with Cal and Byron. "I'm sure we'll all enjoy-"

"Michaela!" The door burst open and Cal stormed in, a very pale Byron in his embrace. "He can't breathe. Ya gotta help. He can't breathe, Mike."

"What?" Michaela uttered, hurrying to his side. She cupped Byron's face in her hands. "Byron? Can you answer me?" She opened his mouth and looked for any objects obstructing his airway. Once when he was a baby, he had choked on an apple slice and turned blue in the face, terrifying his mother until she composed herself and gave him a firm slap on the back. The apple had gone flying and then the baby had giggled at her and carried on as if nothing had happened. Now Michaela almost wished she could see something lodged in his throat. At least then she would know what to do. "Byron? Cal, what did he eat?"

"He can't be choking, Mike," Cal told her quickly. "He wasn't eating anything. I didn't give him a thing, I swear it!" Disconcerted, Mrs. Shelley slipped outside, her hand pressed to her heart.

The little boy gasped raspily, trying to speak but finding it impossible, hot tears pouring down his face. He grabbed his mother's sleeves, eyes wild.

Robert E. and Dorothy came running in, a few paces behind Cal.

"Michaela, he can't breathe!" Dorothy said frantically.

"Put him on the table," Michaela ordered, rushing to her medicine cabinet and tearing through it, sending several bottles shattering to the floor.

"He's turning blue!" Dorothy observed.

"Mike, he's turning blue," Cal shouted as Byron's eyes rolled upward. "Mike, hurry!" He took hold of the little boy's arms and held him upright.

"He was actin' just fine," Robert E. put in nervously, removing his gloves. "He was fine, Dr. Mike."

"He was just a little out of breath after chasin' the puppy," Cal added. "That's all. Byron, please. What's the matter with ya? Please, little guy."

"Arms up," Michaela instructed, coming to her son with a small bottle of chloroform and a cloth. "Hold his arms up!" she shouted.

Cal obeyed, holding Byron's little arms in the air as high as he could. Dorothy stepped forward and removed his mittens, clutching them to her.

Michaela damped the cloth with chloroform and held it to Byron's nose. "Listen to me, Byron. Take short breaths. It's all right. Try to do what I tell you."

It took a few seconds, but Byron's eyes opened. He went on with the wheezing, though perhaps a little less strained, and his tears picked up again.

"Short breaths, darling. Good," Michaela coached, mustering all the strength she could to keep her voice calm. "Don't be frightened. We're all here."

"It's all right, little guy," Cal murmured. "It's all right. You're gonna be fine. Cal promises, all right?"

Byron coughed hard as his air passages slowly relaxed, taking hold of his mother's sleeves again. "...All...all wight...Cal," he whispered.

&&&

"What's taking so long?" Cal demanded, worriedly pacing the clinic porch amidst a small gathering of townsfolk.

Matthew grasped his arm. "Dr. Mike doesn't want to overlook anything," he assured him.

"I'm hungry," sighed Katie, tiredly resting her head against Brian.

Brian put his arm around her. "Be patient, Kate, all right?" he murmured.

"It is gettin' on near supper time," Grace spoke up from the bench beside Dorothy. "Maybe I should bring somethin' over."

"I'll help ya, Grace," offered Robert E., rising from the step.

Just then the clinic door creaked open, revealing an enduring though clearly worn Michaela, stethoscope about her neck.

"What's the matter with him?" Cal asked immediately, stepping forward. "Is he gonna be all right? Why couldn't he breathe?"

Michaela took a deep breath, choosing her words.

"Is it asthma, Dr. Mike?" Matthew spoke slowly, recalling his former fiancée's lifelong bout with the disease.

She swallowed hard. "Yes, Matthew. I think so."

"He gonna die and go t' heaven, Mama?" Katie asked fearfully, clutching Brian's hand.

Cal felt his breath coming quick. He braced himself for the reply.

"Byron's going to be fine, sweetheart," Michaela said firmly, unwilling to speak anything different.

"There's plenty of treatments that work," added Matthew reassuringly. "Ingrid...she had asthma, too. She did real good with medicine, right, Dr. Mike?"

"That's right," Michaela agreed, taking another stiff breath.

"What's this mean, Mike?" Cal whispered,

She reached into her apron pocket for a folded piece of paper, then searched the gathering for Horace, spotting him standing tall in the back. "Horace, I need to send this message to Dr. Patterson. In Denver."

"Sure, Dr. Mike. Right away." Horace stepped forward, took it from her, and hurried down the street, opening the paper on the way.

"Mama, come back!" Byron called plaintively from inside.

"He needs me," Michaela murmured, turning.

"Can we come inside, Ma?" Brian asked hesitantly.

"Please me, too," begged Katie, certain once she saw her little brother he would look just the same and everything would be back to normal.

"All right," Michaela softly replied. She spun around briefly. "Thank you all for your concern."

The townsfolk nodded and murmured words of sympathy.

"Dr. Mike," spoke up Robert E. He held out the little wool jacket. "Found it at the livery."

Silently, Michaela took it from him, hugging it to her, aware of Cal beside her, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger.

"I'm bringing supper over," Grace said. "Lamb stew."

Michaela forced a smile of appreciation. "Thank you, Grace."

She admitted Katie and Brian, then glanced briefly to Cal. "He told me he wants you to come inside, too," she said, then quickly entered, not waiting for him to speak.

Taking a deep breath, Cal followed her, shutting the door behind him.

Byron lay propped up on a cot in the corner, in the smallest examination gown Michaela had, a few sizes too large for the little boy.

Brian took his hand and Katie bravely sat herself at his feet.

"Ya feeling okay, now, B.?" asked the older boy.

Byron shook his head tearfully, lips pursed.

"You're feeling better, aren't you sweetheart?" Michaela murmured, kneeling and giving the little boy a comforting hug.

Byron closed his eyes and buried his head against her shoulder, hugging her neck tightly. "Mama," he said in a tiny whisper, "I scared."

Michaela's heart broke. "Oh, don't be scared, Byron. Don't be scared." She pulled back. "Look, see? We're all here. Your brother and sister and Cal and I, and we're not going to let anything happen."

Reluctantly, he took in each person in the room, eyes wide. Finally he put a finger to the corner of his mouth. "Bian, Mama 'sam-ed me and I got t' say 'Ahhhh' a lot."

"Ahhh," giggled Katie.

"Were ya good at your ahh's?" Brian asked, tickling him gently.

"Yeah, I good," affirmed Byron. "Mama give me candy. Lick-wish"

"Why don't you get under the covers now, and have a little rest," Michaela bid, guiding him to his back and tucking the blanket up to his chin.

"Mama, I'm hungry," Katie said, no longer able to ignore her growling stomach.

Michaela patted Brian's shoulder. "Will you take Katie to the café and have some dinner?"

Brian stood up. "We'll be back in a little bit, all right?" He gave her a brief but comforting hug.

She squeezed his hand in appreciation. "Thank you," she whispered.

Once the older children had left, a strained silence ensued between Michaela and Cal as they waited for Byron to fall asleep.

After a minute, the little boy opened his eyes, just as alert as before. "Don't wanna sleep," he sighed disgruntedly. "Can't."

Michaela stroked his hair. "I'll tell you a story. How about that?"

Byron thought it over for a moment, then turned his head and smiled at Cal. "Cal can."

Cal cleared his throat. "Oh, well...I think it's your Mama's turn this time."

"I want Cal," Byron insisted. He patted his mother's hand sympathetically. "I so-wee, Mama. Cal's stowies betta," he told her.

Michaela couldn't help but smile. She loved the honesty of her child. "Well, if...if Cal wants to." She rose, avoiding the man's eyes, and sat at her desk, immediately engrossing herself in a thick textbook.

Reluctantly, Cal took her place on the cot, Byron watching him expectantly. He rubbed his thighs. "Let's see. A story that'll put ya t' sleep. Hmm." He coughed. "There is this one...my ma used to recite to me."

"Tell me," begged Byron, intrigued. Michaela couldn't help but look up.

"I don't know if I remember," he admitted.

"You 'member," encouraged Byron. "Twy hard."

Cal scratched his head, eyes narrowed, then cleared his throat. "All right. Here goes:

"Winken, Blinken, and Nod one night  
Sailed off in a wooden shoe --  
Sailed off on a river of crystal light,  
Into a sea of dew.  
"Where are you going, and what do you wish?"  
The old moon asked the three.  
"We have come to fish for the herring fish  
That live in the beautiful sea;  
Nets of silver and gold have we!"  
Said Winken,  
Blinken,  
And Nod.

"The old moon laughed and sang a song,  
As they rocked in the wooden shoe,  
And the wind that sped them all night long  
Ruffled the waves of dew.  
The little stars were the herring fish  
That lived in the beautiful sea --  
"Now cast your nets wherever you wish --  
Never afeard are we";  
So cried the stars to the fisherman three: Winken,  
Blinken,  
And Nod.

"All night long their nets they threw  
To the stars in the twinkling foam --  
Then down from the skies came the wooden shoe  
Bringing the fisherman home;  
'Twas all so pretty a sail it seemed  
As if it could not be,  
And some folks thought 'twas a dream they'd dreamed  
Of sailing that beautiful sea --  
But I shall name you the fishermen three:  
Winken,  
Blinken,  
And Nod.

"Winken and Blinken are two little eyes,  
And Nod is a little head,  
And the wooden shoes that sailed the skies  
Is the wee one's trundle-bed.  
So shut your eyes while mother sings  
Of wonderful sights that be,  
And you shall see the beautiful things  
As you rock in the misty sea,  
Where the old shoe rocked the fisherman three: Winken,  
Blinken,  
And Nod."

Cal let out a long breath, stroking Byron's light-brown locks as the child dozed, thumb in mouth. "I'm sorry, little guy," he murmured in a barely audible voice.

"Why wasn't he wearing his jacket, Cal?" Michaela asked shakily, looking up from her reading.

Startled, he turned to her. "Mike...I...I'm sorry. He was running around with the puppy and got hot, and I wasn't gonna let him, but-"

"I give you a simple direction, and you blatantly disregard it," she said vehemently.

He stood up, hands on his hips. "Did he get this 'cause he wasn't wearing a jacket?"

"He was coughing, he has a catarrh," she went on, "it's a chilly winter day. What were you thinking?"

He came to the desk, a lump in his throat. "I am so sorry, Michaela," he told her, eyes begging for understanding. "If I could take it back, I would. What can I do?"

Tears came to her eyes. "Nothing."

"There's gotta be something," he insisted. "I'll pay for whatever it takes. The best medicines. We'll find him a cure."

"There is no cure," she murmured. "He may outgrow it, but he'll more than likely suffer with it his entire life."

"But he can live with it," Cal whispered, waiting for her to affirm.

She nodded. "As long as we catch the attacks in time, give him immediate treatment. Prevent attacks as much as possible." She ran her finger down the text before her. "He could be sensitive to something. Animals, plants, something in the air, dust. I'll keep him away from the barn, at least for now, and tomorrow I'll clean the homestead from top to bottom."

"I'll help," Cal offered.

"No," she immediately replied. "I can do it."

He circled around the desk and stood behind her. Hesitantly, he brought his hands to her shoulders, massaging her consolingly.

"Not now, Cal," she murmured, shrugging him off.

"I want to help," he insisted.

"You've helped enough," Michaela found herself responding. She bit her lip, regretting her words. She hadn't meant them. Byron was sick, and she was looking for someone to blame.

Hurt, Cal backed away. He stared at her for a moment, then made for the door.

"Cal, come back," Michaela called, but he had disappeared.

to be continued...


	18. Chapter 30

Chapter Thirty

"Pease, Mama," begged Katie once more. "I'll help ya."

Michaela momentarily paused scrubbing the floorboards of her bedroom. She dropped the scrub brush in the bucket with a small splash and rose to her feet, drying her hands on her apron. "Katie, I've told you," she began impatiently, "Mama needs to do this to be sure everything is cleaned thoroughly and nothing missed. Please don't stand where I've just washed."

The child climbed up onto the bed, sat on her knees, and crossed her arms.

Michaela sighed, pushing back a few stray hairs that had fallen loose from her bun. "Sweetheart, it's very thoughtful of you to offer, but it would help me best if you find something else to do...Go to Byron's room and play with your brothers."

"They're playin' boy toys," Katie informed her. "Trains an' horsies an' cowboys."

"Byron isn't out of bed, is he?" Michaela asked worriedly.

"No, they playin' on the bed," replied Katie irritably, fed up with everyone fussing over her little brother. It just wasn't fair. She tapped her finger to her chin. "Mama, can I play weddin'?"

"Of course," Michaela agreed absently, getting back on her knees and fishing the scrub bush out of the sudsy water. "Run along now."

"Thanks!" responded a now grinning Katie.

&&&

"You sure ya put it right here?" questioned Brian, certain his mother wasn't remembering correctly.

"I'm positive," replied a clearly distressed Michaela. She twisted her engagement ring. "I started with the windows, and I'd only been working for a little while when I realized I'd better put my rings someplace for safe keeping lest they slip off in the water." She touched the counter. "And so I took them off and put them just here. Right next to the pump." She ran her hand down the pump handle worriedly. "And when I came back my wedding ring was gone."

Brian looked behind a vase and moved a cookie jar aside. "Right next to the pump?"

Michaela went through the motions, removing an imaginary ring from her finger and placing it on the counter. "Yes, right here." She brought a hand to her mouth. "This can't be. We have to find it."

"It's gotta be around," Brian assured her calmly, getting down on his hands and knees to search the floor. "It can't have just walked away."

Michaela nodded, swallowing hard. "Yes, you're right. Let's not panic." She turned to the younger children, who had been observing the scene silently from nearby. "Katie, you haven't seen it, have you? Mama's gold wedding ring?"

Katie clasped her hands behind her back. "...No," she said in a small voice.

"Byron?" Michaela asked. "Of course you've been in your room all day."

"Nope," sighed the little boy. He slid down from the kitchen table chair. "I help look, Mama."

Michaela lifted him back onto the chair. "No, no. You stay here."

A knock sounded at the front door, but Michaela barely heard it.

"I help look, Mama," Byron insisted. "I feel good. Really."

"Look for what?" Cal asked, letting himself in.

"Ma lost her wedding ring," Brian explained.

"It's lost, lost, lost," Byron sang.

"I didn't lose it," insisted Michaela uncomfortably. "I put it right here on the counter, and now it's..." Her voice grew hoarse. "Now it's gone."

"You're ring's missing?" Cal cleared his throat, coming to the kitchen. "Well, Mike you...you must be mistaken. Maybe...maybe ya had it on all along."

"Kinda like if ya wear something for a long time," Brian supplied, "then after awhile ya can't hardly feel it's there. Right, Ma? Maybe ya thought ya took it off but really ya didn't. Then later it slipped off when ya didn't realize."

"I suppose that's a possibility," she admitted reluctantly.

"Sure. Sure it is," spoke up Cal. "We'll retrace your steps. Search everywhere ya've been today."

"Everywhere I've been today," echoed Michaela, thinking hard. "First I...woke up and dressed."

Everyone followed Cal upstairs, including Byron, who refused to stay seated lest he miss any excitement.

Brian and Cal moved furniture aside and the younger children got down on their hands and knees and looked behind the vanity, behind the long mirror, and under the bed, turning up nothing. Then they searched each of the children's rooms, again finding nothing save a left slipper Brian had been missing for a week.

"Where next, Mike?" Cal asked, observing Michaela's increasingly distraught expression. "Where'd ya go next?"

Michaela dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief. "Well, I think I...I think then I went to the barn to gather the eggs."

Cal patted her back. "It could've fallen off there. We'll find it."

"Will you stay inside with Byron?" Michaela asked her older son, clasping his arm. "I don't want him in the barn."

"Sure, Ma," Brian agreed, picking up his frowning little brother. "We'll keep looking in here, how's that, B.?"

"...All wight," sighed the little boy.

Cal and Michaela headed to the barn, Katie tagging along quietly. The little girl sat herself on a pile of straw while the adults combed the barn: under each chicken, the floor, even the loft. Soon Michaela found herself in tears, unable to supress them any longer. They would never find it. Sully's vow to love her forever, made on their wedding day, was gone. Now she had not only lost her husband, but the ring as well. Cal stood by, not sure what else to do. It's a sign, Michaela thought. Sully was trying to tell her something. When Cal placed his hand on her shoulder consolingly, she immediately pulled away. What if Sully didn't like Cal, or furthermore the idea of her even courting? There was no way of really knowing, was there? She looked at Cal, and then her bare finger, and sobbed all the harder.

Cal glanced at Katie, intending to take her back inside, and was surprised to see her curled up in a corner by herself, weeping just as despairingly as her mother. "What's the matter, Princess?" Cal asked, coming to her side.

"I s-sorry," choked the little girl.

Michaela took a shaky breath and joined the two. "You don't need to be sorry, sweetheart. This certainly isn't your fault."

Katie shook her head. "Mama...I was just playin'. I didn't mean it."

Michaela bent to the child's level. "Mean what, Katie?" she demanded quickly.

The child wiped at her eyes, gasping. "You said I could. I was playin' weddin' and it fell off. Too big for me. You said I c-could."

"What fell off?" Michaela quickly responded, grasping Katie's arm tightly.

"Were ya playing with your ma's ring?" questioned Cal.

Katie nodded aversely. "You said I could, Mama," she insisted. "It fell off in this here stwaw," she explained, patting the pile she sat upon. "I looked and looked. Can't find it."

Cal picked up Katie and stood her behind them, and at once he and Michaela began weeding through the straw, frantically but meticulously.

"Katie, why didn't you say something before?" Michaela pleaded.

"You were m-mad," the little girl said hoarsely.

"No, before I was upset," Michaela explained. "Now I'm mad."

"Mike, she didn't mean it," Cal spoke quietly.

"Go inside, Katie," Michaela told her.

Sniffling, Katie hurried out the barn door.

"Oh, gosh. Here it is, Mike," Cal said, holding up the straw-covered, filthy ring.

Michaela quickly took it from him, pressing it to her heart. "Oh, thank God." She picked the straw from it, blew on it, and polished it with her apron.

Cal stood up and brushed off his pant legs. "See, I told ya. Told ya we'd find it."

Michaela placed the ring back on her finger and pressed her hand to her lips, closing her eyes as tears once again trickled down her cheeks.

"Oh, don't now, Mike," Cal pleaded awkwardly. "Ya got it back, just like we said." He kneeled down and tried to put his arm around her, but she refused to allow it, shrugging him off once more.

"What's the matter? Don't ya want me here?" he whispered.

She sighed. "Cal, I need some time to sort things out. Losing the ring...I've realized how much I have to think over."

He felt his heart beat fast. "You having second thoughts about us?"

"...No," she finally choked.

"But you still wear your rings," he pointed out softly, a lump in his throat.

She opened her mouth to reply, then didn't know what to say.

"Look, we'll talk things over," he assured her. "Tomorrow we can have us a nice quiet dinner. We'll ask Miss Dorothy or Matthew to look after the kids for a few hours."

"I can't. I'm taking Byron to Denver tomorrow," she told him softly, rising to her feet.

"What?" he breathed. "Mike, Denver? Why?" he asked, the thought of her leaving, even if only for a short time, causing him to miss her already.

"I've wired a pediatrician there, Dr. Patterson." She saw him raise an eyebrow. "He specializes in children. I want Byron properly diagnosed."

Cal grasped her arm. "I thought ya said he has asthma."

"I believe he does," she murmured. "Dr. Patterson can confirm that, and suggest the best treatment." She turned away, moving toward the door.

"All right. I'll come with ya then," Cal offered, following her.

"No," Michaela immediately replied. She softened her tone. "He's my child. I'll take him. We leave at nine tomorrow and return the following day. I know this is last minute...I'm sorry about that."

"What about Katie and Brian?" he asked.

"I've already spoken with the two of them," she explained. "I trust Brian to look after Katie for one night. He's very responsible."

"I'll come stay at the homestead," replied Cal. "If I'm not going with you then I should stay with the kids."

"That's very sweet, Cal," she admitted. "You don't have to."

"No arguments," he insisted. "I won't be able to stand by not doing anything."

"Thank you," she whispered. "I promise they'll be on their best behavior." She cleared her throat. "Well, I...need to have a talk with Katie now."

"Mike, don't be too hard on her," he advised. "I know it ain't my business but...she's four years old and she was pretending. Probably feeling left out what with Byron being sick and all. She didn't mean any harm by it."

Michaela nodded. "I know...but not knowing where my ring was frightened me. That's not something I want to feel again." She opened the barn door, then turned briefly. "Thank you for helping me search for it."

"You're welcome," he replied, smiling softly.

&&&

"I found it," Michaela informed her daughter softly, sitting next to her on the child's bed. She cleared her throat. "...Cal's going to stay here with you while Brynie and I are in Denver."

Katie hugged her tattered stuffed bunny to her, eyes lowered. "You very mad," she whispered forlornly.

"At first, but not anymore." Michaela placed her hand on the little girl's back. "Katie, I want you to know my ring is something very special to me. Every time I look at it I'm reminded of your papa. The thought of losing it makes me very, very sad."

"I asked, Mama," Katie whispered. "I asked I can play weddin', and you said 'yes'."

"Darling, Mama was very busy cleaning when you were asking," Michaela explained. "I didn't quite stop to think what you meant." She kissed the child's head. "If you want to try on my ring you may, but you need to wait until I'm sitting down, not busy, not distracted by anything. Then I can give you my full attention."

"You never wanna play with me any more," Katie replied, looking up at her. "You always, always busy. You always playin' with Byron, not me. You like him the bestest."

Michaela felt terrible. "Oh, sweetheart. I didn't realize. I love you all equally, it's just, Brynie's sick right now and-"

Katie gave a fake cough. "I can be sick, too," she offered hopefully.

Michaela hugged her tight. "Oh, Katie, I know this is difficult to understand, but some days you'll need Mommy more, but other days Byron, and right now he needs me the most. It doesn't mean I forget about you, or Brian. We just all need to be patient."

Katie sighed, thinking it over. She toyed with a button on Michaela's blouse. "I wanna go t' Den-var, too. Please?"

"I don't think you'd have very much fun," Michaela told her. "We're only going to see the insides of doctors' offices. You get enough of that right here, don't you think?" She tickled her chin.

"Yeah," Katie admitted. "But I'm gonna be the only giwl here."

"It's hard being the only girl, isn't it?" replied Michaela. "Well, I'll tell you what. While I'm gone, I want you to take extra good care of Wolf. Don't let her feel left out. She's a lady, too, you know."

"...All right," Katie agreed.

"And when I come back from Denver...we'll have a girl's day. Just you and I. And Wolf if she likes. You think about what you'd like to do."

"Anything?" Katie asked excitedly.

"Well, almost anything. No trips to the moon, mind you." Michaela reached inside her collar and pulled out a handsome gold locket necklace. "Have you ever seen this, Katie? I don't wear it all the time, but I did today."

Katie gazed at it in admiration. "Ooo. Pretty, Mama."

"It was your grandmother's. She gave it to me when I was about your age I think. I was sad because all of your aunts were older than me, and got to do everything I couldn't." Michaela removed it from her neck, then kneeled behind Katie. "Hold up your hair." Katie did as told and Michaela fastened the necklace around her daughter's neck.

"Just for me?" Katie gasped, touching the heart tentatively with her fingers.

Michaela kissed her cheek and hugged her from behind. "Just for you. Do you know it opens?"

Katie's eyes lit up as she fiddled with the heart. Michaela unclasped it for her. "Some people put a little picture inside of someone special, but this one has a mirror, see?"

Katie grinned and squinted at herself in the tiny mirror. "Ooo," she murmured.

"Whenever you open it, you'll always be looking at someone special."

Katie turned and hugged her mother tightly. "I'll never, ever lose it, Mama. I promise. I'll never, ever touch your ring again, 'kay? Ever. I sorry."

Michaela held her close. "Oh, that's all right. I forgive you, sweetheart."

Katie kissed her mother's cheek lovingly, and then held out the locket in her mother's direction. "What'd ya see, Mama?" she said wryly.

Michaela raised her eyebrows. "Myself?"

Katie giggled. "Some-one special. You!"

"Oh!" Michaela laughed and hugged her again. "My precious girl."

&&&

"I want Cal to come, too," announced Byron, cranking his head around to squint at the specks of his brother, sister and Cal, waving their last good-byes.

"Not another word about it, Byron," his mother scolded gently. All morning Byron hadn't given up on the idea of Cal joining them in Denver, and Michaela was tired of it. She told herself she was glad Cal wasn't coming. She needed some time away from him. And of course she needed to focus all her efforts on Byron, the reason they were going in the first place. She couldn't afford the distraction of Cal.

"Are we there yet, Mama?" Byron spoke up, turning in her lap to face her.

Michaela chuckled. "We've only just pulled out of the station, Brynie. It's going to be a few hours." Her legs were falling asleep from the weight of the little boy. She wondered if she should have gotten him his own seat after all. She noticed the middle-aged man seated next to them seemed annoyed already with the talkative three-year-old. He opened his newspaper and shook it firmly, as if to confirm Michaela's speculations.

"I like twains," Byron responded, pressing his nose to the glass. "They are fun. Mama, look! Twees!" He pointed to the blur of evergreen out his window, fascinated.

Not customarily bothered by moving trains or boats or anything of the like, Michaela felt sick to her stomach. She fanned herself with her handkerchief and leaned back in the seat, shutting her eyes. Byron was heavy and warm and she wanted him off her lap, but there was nowhere else for him to go.

Byron talked to her about the train, about what he saw outside, about Denver and what he thought it might be like, not caring that Michaela was failing miserably in paying attention to a word he said. Michaela bought him a biscuit with jam to quiet him, and he ate it all, spilling crumbs all over her lap. Then, much to her surprise, he curled up in her arms and fell asleep.

Michaela stroked his hair and gazed at him with sympathy now that he was breathing deeply, suckling his thumb like an infant. It didn't seem fair. He had always been, though small for his age, remarkably healthy, and now this, out of no where. The thought of Byron's life being anything but healthy and happy filled Michaela with a sorrow she couldn't describe. She thought about Sully, and wanted him with her more than ever. He would hug her tight, stroke her hair, and assure her nothing's changed. He'd sit next to her on the train and squeeze her hand, whisper to her quietly, take Byron from her and insist she rest her head on his shoulder. She wondered if Cal might do the same thing, if he were here.

Michaela closed her eyes and dreamed. She dreamed she was lost and alone in a dark, dense woods, cold and frightened. She called for Sully, but he didn't answer. He couldn't; he was dead. She called for Cal, but he couldn't come either. "I tried," Cal's voice echoed from a distance. "Mike, I tried, but ya wouldn't let me."

Michaela eyes fluttered open, disoriented. Byron was patting her damp, cool cheek to rouse her. The train had stopped. They had arrived.

&&&

"Ooo, look at this, Brynie," Michaela murmured. "Isn't this nice?" She placed him on his feet and opened her purse to tip the young bellhop carrying her carpet and medical bags. She would have been able to manage the luggage herself, but after checking in at the front desk, Byron tugged at her skirts and begged to be picked up, frightened by the lavish, enormous lobby, populated with scores of unfamiliar, elegantly dressed people.

More at ease with the quiet hotel room, Byron hesitantly took a step forward, taking in everything with wide eyes. He stood on a plush oriental carpet that seemed to him as soft as the mattress on his bed at home. The walls were papered with a cream-colored, flower print pattern. There was a high double bed with fluffy pillows and a deep red velvet canopy, and nearby a tall window with matching curtains. Byron walked over to the window and peeked down on the street below.

"Mama...we high!" he gasped, clutching the windowsill.

"Three stories up," Michaela told him with a smile, giving the bellhop a nickel for his assistance. The young man placed her bags at his feet, thanked her and handed her the key to the room, then headed out the door, shutting it behind him.

Byron wondered what a story had to do with how high they were. Abandoning the window for the moment, he ran his hand across an oak nightstand with a lamp, then skirted across the room to a tall wardrobe, opening it with two hands. "Nothin' in here!" he exclaimed, puzzled. Mama's wardrobe at home was full of dresses and shoes and things.

Michaela chuckled, placing the bags on the bed and laying out their nightclothes for when they returned from the doctor. "Of course not. What did you expect to find?"

He crawled up onto a chair a few feet away and opened the drawers of a secretary, pleased to uncover several sheets of stationary and a pen and ink well. Deciding he could draw a picture for Mama later once he had explored the entire room, he slid down from the chair and spotted a door; not the door they had entered, but a different one, next to the fireplace. Intrigued, he grasped the gold handle, pulled it down, and entered a small, black-and-white tile room with white walls.

"Don't tell me I forgot to pack your socks," Michaela said more to herself, opening the carpetbag wider and fishing through it.

"Mama, what this?" Byron called softly.

"What's what? Do you remember seeing me pack your socks, Brynie?" Michaela replied worriedly. If he didn't have his socks, his feet would be cold during the night. If his feet were cold, he would come down with something, again. He needed his socks.

"What this do?" the little boy responded.

"Ah, here they are!" Michaela held them up, relieved. "Never mind, sweetheart."

Suddenly, a clamorous churning of water and a clanging of pipes sounded from the little room, and Byron immediately came running out, shrieking and throwing himself against Michaela's legs, terrified.

"What in heaven's name...?" breathed Michaela, picking him up and heading to the source of the noise. "Byron, what on earth did you touch?"

Trembling in her arms, he wrapped his legs around her waist and squeezed tight. "I-I did...didn't," he quivered. "Mama, don't go in!" he begged.

Michaela opened the door wide, stared at the contraption for a moment with raised eyebrows, then burst into a wide grin. "Oh...sweetheart," she chuckled, kissing his head. "It's all right. It's all right. It's just a...a..."

"Mon'sta!" he finished, burying his head against her shoulder.

Michaela couldn't hold back a smile. "No, it's not a monster. Look, open your eyes."

He shook his head.

Michaela stroked his hair. "Byron, look, it's an outhouse."

Reluctantly, he turned his head, opening his eyes a sliver. "Uh-uh, Mama. Not da potty at home. Uh-uh."

"Well, no, it's not like what we have at home. It's a...a Denver potty." She pointed to a sparkling clean porcelain bowl filled halfway with water. "That's similar to the hole in our outhouse, only very fancy." She pointed at the pipes that led up to a box high above the toilet. "And that's called plumbing. It's a machine of sorts, and when you pull that string...it sends the, um..." She searched for the right word. "Well, the waste...it sends it away. You don't have to use sawdust like at home."

Byron stared at the mechanism disbelievingly. "Where it go to?" he asked.

Michaela cleared her throat. "Well...to be honest I'm not quite sure. The sewer I suppose."

He fingered the lace on her bodice thoughtfully. At last he let loose a resolved sigh. "Mama...I gotta go potty."

She put him on his feet. "You do?"

He nodded, tugging at the buttons of his britches. Michaela helped him undo them. "Do you want me to stay here with you?"

"No," he replied bravely. "I be all wight."

She patted his head. "All right, but hurry along. We need to leave for the hospital in a few minutes."

"Alweady?" he murmured, disappointed. "I wanna dwaw picture."

"They'll be plenty of time for that later." She grasped the handle of the door. "I'll be right outside, sweetheart."

"'Kay," he replied.

"Don't forget to...to pull the string," she added, clearing her throat as she stepped into the main room.

"'Kay," he called, reaching over with one hand and pushing the door closed.

to be continued...


	19. Chapter 31

Chapter Thirty-one

"Do you have an appointment?" demanded the grouchy, tight skinned nurse, sitting erect at the desk, pen in hand as she flipped through a pile of documents.

Byron stared up at her apprehensively, his mouth slightly agape. He held Michaela's hand tighter, huddling against her leg.

"Not exactly-" Michaela began.

The nurse looked up with only her eyes, sighing impatiently. "Is there an emergency?"

"Well, no," admitted Michaela.

"Then you'll need to make an appointment," ordered the nurse. "Hospital policy." She leaned forward and peered down at the little boy, scrutinizing him from head to toe. He sucked his thumb, a bad habit that should be broken, but she liked that he was quiet. That was a nice change. "Name?"

Byron wondered how the nurse's starched white hat stayed on so well. It never moved, even when she bent her head. He cocked his head to the side, studying it.

"But I wired Dr. Patterson just the other day," Michaela explained. "He promised he would try to take a look at my son this afternoon. Around three o'clock he said. It is three, isn't it?"

The nurse put down her pen. "Not Dr. Quinn from Colorado Springs?"

Michaela raised her eyebrows. "Well, yes but-"

"My goodness, why didn't you speak up?" She searched through her papers. "Why, you're famous."

"Famous?" echoed Michaela disbelievingly.

The nurse chuckled. Michaela thought it strange to see her so suddenly cheerful. "Of course! A successful practice, inducted into the Medical Association, nominated for Woman of the Year, and we all know you write those articles about...what is it? Indian concoctions and the like. I just never pictured you..." She chuckled again, bringing her hand to her mouth. "So...normal, I suppose. Ah, here it is." She held up a piece of paper with a brief note the doctor had scratched mentioning Michaela's arrival. "Yes, Dr. Patterson will see you at three o'clock sharp." She handed Michaela a thin packet of papers and a pencil and then gestured at a row of benches along the wall. "Fill out these forms, and you and your son may take a seat. When the doctor's through with his current patient I'll send you in."

A tad bewildered, Michaela led Byron to the bench and lifted him up onto it, then took a seat next to him, putting the papers in her lap. Name, address, birth date, height, weight. This was easy so far.

Across the room, a girl about Byron's age with her wrist in a cast was staring at him. He hugged Michaela's arm and buried his head against her shoulder. "Mama, I don't like it here," he whispered. "Go home." The walls were too white, the people too unfamiliar, and the room smelled funny. Not exactly bad, just funny. Nothing at all like Mama's clinic.

Michaela rubbed his back reassuringly as she pondered a question on the form. "Byron, how many catarrhs have you had in the past year?"

"I dunno," he replied uncaringly.

Michaela cleared her throat. "Well, this isn't being very scientific, but we'll have to guess. Twelve, we'll say? One each month?" She gazed at his head of thick wavy hair, nestled against her for comfort. One each month! Why hadn't she seen this coming? She put her arm around Byron and cuddled him close, feeling guilty. Her little boy had always been sickly, and she had refused to believe it, had refused to believe anything could harm Sully's son.

She put the form beside her and lifted Byron onto her lap, kissing his brow. "Mama loves you, Brynie," she whispered. "I promise I'll keep you safe."

He nodded, hugging her. "'All wight, but I don't like Den-va."

She kissed his cheek. "I know. Mama's right here." She stroked his hair, noticing for the first time the children around them. There was the girl with the cast, and another little girl next to her, pale and in a wheelchair, her head titled back and a man, probably her father, pinching her bloody nose with a handkerchief. A few feet away from the girls, a baby cried hoarsely in its mother's arms, its tired parents singing to it, shaking a rattle in its face and offering it a bottle it did not want. Most likely colicky, Michaela thought. There wasn't a lot they could do but wait for the baby to outgrow it. Then again it could be something else. A fever, pneumonia, a hernia, or some fatal disease no one could cure. A few feet from Michaela was another mother, scolding her mentally retarded son for pulling at her buttons or some other trivial thing. An older boy, perhaps the child's brother, crossed his arms, scowled, and looked embarrassed by the scene. And then there was Byron.

"It could be a lot worse," she could hear Sully reminding her. Michaela almost reached for his hand, as if expecting him to be seated right beside her, filling out the forms so she could tend to Byron.

"Then why do I feel so terrible, Sully?" she replied silently, closing her eyes and pressing her lips to Byron's hair.

&&&

Michaela had pictured Dr. Patterson as an elderly, balding man, with wiry gray sideburns and thick spectacles. She was quite surprised to discover he was no older than she, very tall, and unconventionally clean-shaven. He had curly, golden-blond hair, and a reassuring sense of humor.

"It's an honor, Dr. Quinn," he had greeted her, extending his hand.

He placed a very timid Byron on his table and began examining the boy thoroughly, utilizing modern instruments and detailed, up-to-date textbooks Michaela could only dream of affording someday. Dr. Patterson talked to his patient, helping to keep Byron's mind off the examination, asking him about his favorite games, storybooks he liked, if he'd ever been to Denver before, and so on. Much to Michaela's amazement, Byron nodded his head 'yes' or 'no' and even replied to some of the doctor's questions, though he kept his thumb in his mouth.

Twenty minutes into the examination Dr. Patterson dug in a nearby crate filled with toys and gave Byron a yo-yo to play with, then asked Michaela to describe the little boy's recent attack, taking fervent notes as she spoke.

At last all was complete, and Byron was rewarded with a piece of taffy from the doctor's desk drawer.

Soon afterward one of Dr. Patterson's nurses came in, a nun with a friendly expression, and took Byron's hand, leading him to the door.

Byron immediately pulled away, shooting his mother a look of panic.

Michaela rose from her chair and picked him up, carrying him out of the office. "Byron, I need to speak with Dr. Patterson now. You sit here and I'll be back in a little bit." She placed him on the waiting bench.

He shook his head, eyes welling with tears. "No, Mama," he moaned, "stay wid me." He took hold of her skirts tight and decided not to let go until she gave in.

"I'll look after him," offered the nurse sympathetically. "Byron is it? Do you know where we hide the ice-cream here?"

Byron squinted at her, unconsciously loosening his grip on Michaela. "What's ice-cweam?"

"What's ice-cream?" replied the nurse unbelievingly. "Why it's..." She smiled, taking his hand. "Come along, child. I'll show you."

Intrigued, Byron looked to his mother for approval. "Go on," Michaela encouraged. She gave the nurse an appreciative smile. "Thank you. This is very kind."

"We won't be long," replied the old woman, returning the smile.

&&&

"Please, take a seat, Dr. Quinn," offered the doctor, gesturing at a pair of chairs in front of his desk.

Michaela tentatively sank into the cool green leather. It was a terribly comfortable chair. Too comfortable for her taste. She placed her medical bag in her lap and sat forward.

Dr. Patterson leaned back in his own tall leather chair and leafed through his notes, brow furrowed. "Is the boy's father waiting outside? Perhaps it would be best if both parents are present."

Michaela was caught off guard. "Oh...um, his father passed away several years ago," Michaela explained. It was strange, she thought, what time does. Until recently, when someone would ask about Sully, she would barely be able to choke the words out. Now...well, it wasn't as hard. "I'm Byron's parent," she added. "Whatever you have to say you can say to me." She prepared herself for bad news.

Dr. Patterson looked up slowly. "Oh," he croaked. He cleared his throat. "That's a shame," he murmured diffidently, as if he couldn't remember what one was supposed to say in such a situation. "About your husband, that is. I'm sorry," he finally told her.

Michaela nodded, tugging at the ends of her black lace gloves to pull them tighter on her hands.

"You're traveling all alone then," the doctor concluded, rising from his chair and sitting on the end of his desk.

Michaela saw no harm in telling him the truth. "Yes. Well, with Byron of course."

"A beautiful woman like yourself shouldn't be alone in a city the size of Denver," he remarked shrewdly.

"We're quite fine, thank you," Michaela said quickly, reddening. "Now about my son..."

"Your son," Dr. Patterson echoed slowly, captivated by the blush staining her cheeks. She was very beautiful indeed.

"Byron?" Michaela reminded him.

He tugged at his collar. "Byron. Yes, yes. Of course." He rose from his desk, spilling a few papers and a pen in the process. Mumbling an apology, he hurriedly picked them up and walked to a nearby cabinet. "I have several powders and tonics you can try..." He placed a handful of patent bottles and small packages on his desk.

Michaela took a deep breath. "Then it is asthma," she murmured.

He turned briefly. "I'm truly sorry. But it's very treatable, as you well know." He picked up a box from the pile of medicines. "These are cigarettes if you can get him to inhale. If not save them for when he's older. You can also mix equal parts of Henbane and Atropa belladonna and combine it with honey for him to swallow. And sweetened water just before bed, and a warm cloth laid across the stomach, seems to help some of my patients."

Michaela unclasped her medical bag and found a pad and pencil to take notes on. "Henbane, belladonna. Those are very powerful herbs, doctor. Potential poisons."

"Thank goodness you'll be giving them to him, Dr. Quinn," he responded. He placed another bottle on the table, looking her in the eyes. "May I call you Michaela?"

Not expecting this, she concentrated on her notepad. "Oh, well, I...suppose."

"I've read your articles in the Medical Journal, Michaela," he went on. "You're very knowledgeable about herbs."

She nodded reluctantly. It seemed so different though, administering them to her son, her three-year-old little boy. She didn't like the idea of using him to test all of these drugs on until something worked. "I've used stramonium on my patients with some success," she spoke up.

"Yes, certainly try what's worked before, in a dosage adjusted for Byron's height and weight of course." He sat back in his chair. "If he begins wheezing while he's outside, bring him indoors, obviously, and do the opposite if he has difficulty breathing inside. In most cases, the child is sensitive to some element, the grass, a cat or a dog, even certain types of food."

"Oh, no." Michaela bit her lip. "Doctor, we have a puppy."

He sighed. "I'd suggest you get rid of it, or at the very least don't let it in the house."

"Brynie's going to be heartbroken," Michaela murmured, but she was willing to do anything, give up anything, if it meant her little boy wouldn't be as ill. "How about exercising?" she asked worriedly. "Can he run and jump and play?"

Dr. Patterson rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I've found that some patients seem to feel better with mild exercise, others find exertion only brings about an attack. Through trial and error you'll discover what's best for him."

"My son is not an experiment," she murmured tearfully.

He folded his arms, bending his head sympathetically. "No, I didn't mean to imply that. I wish as much as you we knew more, I wish there was some sort of way to find out what the cause of this is. Right now experimenting, per se, seems to be the only sure way. It's not as terrible as it sounds. Simply keep him away from things that you find irritate him. I'd like you to bring him back in six months for a follow-up. At that time I'll determine when I'll need to see him again, if at all."

Michaela remained silent for a moment, digesting his words. At last she whispered, "What kind of life can I expect for him?"

He leaned back against his desk. "Several very accomplished people have suffered from asthma."

"Who?" she asked curiously.

"Well, let me see." He stroked his chin in thought. "Beethoven for one, and I believe Charles Dickens..."

"Really?" she said hopefully. "Dickens. He's one of my favorite novelists."

Dr. Patterson smiled. "Mine, too. It's also been documented President Van Buren often experienced bouts of wheezing, and Oliver Wendell Holmes as well."

"Oliver Wendell Holmes!" she exclaimed. "I wasn't aware he has asthma."

"There, you see. You'd never even know it. Michaela, your son can live as close to a normal life as possible, provided he's given the proper care when he suffers an attack."

He opened a desk drawer and pulled out a small brown paper bag, placing the medicines in it, then folded the top and handed it to Michaela. "I'll be eager to hear what works."

Michaela tucked it under her arm and opened her drawstring purse. "I thank you very much for your time, doctor. How much do I owe you?"

He smiled, waving his hand. "No need."

Michaela raised her eyebrows. "But..."

He smirked. "It isn't often I have the pleasure of conversing with a lady doctor. The Dr. Michaela Quinn, to be precise."

Embarrassed, Michaela fiddled with her gloves again.

He took her hand as if he were about to lay a kiss upon it. "Why don't you join me for dinner? The food here isn't the best, but we make do." He chuckled at her hesitant expression. "Come now, Michaela. Is it that you've already made plans with some other handsome man?

Reddening once more, Michaela cleared her throat. "Well, um, it's Byron. We really should get back to our hotel and-"

"He may sit with us," offered Dr. Patterson, "as long as he doesn't throw mashed potatoes in my hair, or spill his milk all over my desk." Michaela couldn't tell whether he was teasing or serious. "It's settled then. I'll have the kitchen staff send three plates to my office...and afterward I'll give you a personal tour of the hospital."

Michaela perked up at the mention of a tour. The doctor in her couldn't resist. "Well...all right then," she agreed softly.

"Splendid!" replied the physician.

&&&

"I was in this very hospital for six months," Dr. Patterson went on, fork in hand. "They wouldn't let me leave my bed for fear of doing further damage. Father and Mother and my sisters visited when they could, but I remember being lonely much of the time, and frightened. I hated my physician. I don't think he cared for children all that much. It was a terrible time. I never wanted to see these walls again."

"Did the bones heal properly?" Michaela asked curiously. She cut Byron a piece of roast beef and handed him his fork. Byron gazed at the meat for a moment, then slowly put the fork in his mouth.

The doctor nodded. "Somewhat, eventually. You may notice I continue to walk with a slight limp." He chuckled. "I have a cane, but I refuse to use it. It was after that I knew I wanted to be a doctor. More importantly, a specialist, a pediatrician. I want to make my patients' visits here agreeable. No child should have to suffer through what I did. Doctors are supposed to help one feel better, not worse."

"We appreciate your efforts," Michaela told him.

He smiled. "Well, that's not the only reason. Children fascinate me. For instance your son here. If he had a fever, and a doctor gave him the same dose of quinine you'd give a man my size...why, it could be lethal!"

"What's le-fal, Mama?" queried Byron, tracing his fingers along the edge of his plate.

"Never mind," replied Michaela. "Eat your carrots."

"Everything must be adjusted for the smallest of us," Dr. Patterson continued. "Children are practically a different species all together. The simply cannot be treated as undersized adults. Their physiology is entirely distinct." He cut himself a piece of meat. "Now how about you, Michaela? What initiated your love affair with medicine?" He reached across his desk to lay his hand over hers as he chewed leisurely.

Michaela cleared her throat, removing her hand and placing it in her lap. She wondered if all the doctors here were this friendly. "Well, my...my father was a doctor. I was the youngest of five girls...so I suppose I was the son he never had. It seemed natural I would follow in his footsteps. As far back as I can remember he would take me along on his rounds at the hospital in Boston--where I grew up." She paused, noticing his piercing gaze. She took a sip of water and shifted in her chair uncomfortably. "...I knew when I was very young that I wanted to be a doctor someday like my father."

"Yes, I bet you did," he murmured, leaning forward.

Michaela averted her eyes. "Byron, you need to eat your carrots, not pick at them."

"I can't. I stuffed," he moaned, putting down his fork and clutching his belly.

"Come now, Byron," spoke up the doctor. "Good boys clean their plates."

Byron stared at him with a frown, reluctantly picking up his fork.

Michaela pulled the little boy's napkin from his collar and took the fork from him, laying it across his plate. "All right, if you're certain you're full you don't have to eat any more. You had a lot of ice-cream earlier, didn't you?"

He nodded, clutching her arm. "Vila ice-cweam."

"Vanilla," Michaela annunciated.

"Va-ila," repeated Byron.

"He's left all of his vegetables," noted the doctor disapprovingly.

"Children know when they've eaten their fill," Michaela responded. "The same meal you would give a man of your size is far too much for a little boy like Byron."

He chuckled. "You're quick, Michaela. I like that." He stood up, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin. "Well, that was a delightful conversation, and a fitting prelude to our tour."

Michaela picked up her plate and glass. "Should we return these to the kitchen?"

He waved his hand. "No, no. My staff will take care of it, of course. Leave it right here."

"...All right," Michaela agreed hesitantly. "I was only thinking if we're going to pass by the kitchen anyway...we might save them a trip."

"Don't be absurd," Dr. Patterson chuckled. "Enter the kitchen? Heavens!" He circled the desk and looped her arm with his. "Byron, get down from your chair now, and come along."

Byron obeyed, hurrying to his mother and grasping her free hand.

"Now Byron, this is a hospital," Dr. Patterson told the timid little boy. "What does that mean?"

Byron pressed his head against Michaela's skirts. "Go home, Mama," he whispered.

"It means you must be very quiet," Dr. Patterson supplied. "There are some very ill people here who don't care for little children."

"I don't foresee a problem, doctor. He rarely speaks to people he doesn't know." Michaela felt Byron's arm encircle her leg. She caressed his head reassuringly.

"Hm," replied the doctor. "Well, in that case, shall we begin?"

&&&

"Thanks for dinner, Cal," Brian said politely as he finished the last of his pie.

Cal smiled, touching his fork to his full plate. "You're welcome, Brian.

"Thank you, Cal," said Katie, all smiles. "It was goood."

Cal tousled her hair. "Glad ya liked it, but it's Miss Grace who deserves the thanks."

"I think I left my history book at the clinic the other day," Brian spoke up. "Can I go over and get it? Ma gave me the key in case there was an emergency while she was gone."

"Sure, I guess so, Brian. But come back here when you're done, all right?"

"All right," agreed Brian. He took his sister's hand. "Wanna come, Kate?"

"Yeah, okay," replied the little girl as he helped her down from her chair.

Cal watched them go, trying to remember what Michaela might say. "Uh, Brian," he called. "Hold Katie's hand in the street."

Brian turned briefly. "All right."

Grace approached the table and refilled Cal's cider glass. "Somethin' wrong with the food?"

He sighed. "No, ma'am, I'm sure it's fine. I just ain't hungry I guess."

Grace smiled. "Any news from Dr. Mike?"

"None yet," murmured Cal. "Figure she must have a lot on her mind. Probably not a lot of time to send a wire. No news is good news, I s'pose. I mean, they're only gonna be gone 'til tomorrow. They'll be back in the morning...Maybe I should've gone. But she needs me here to look after Brian and Katie. Yeah." Don't talk so much, he scolded himself.

Grace took a seat across from him. "I'm sure everythin's fine."

"Yeah," Cal murmured.

Dorothy entered the cafe, spotted Cal and Grace chatting, and walked over to them. "Evenin', Grace, Cal. Mind if I sit down?" she asked, greeting them with her usual cheery smile.

"Sure, go ahead," Cal said, gesturing at the seat next to Grace, then resting his elbows on the table and sighing.

"You're a sorry sight," remarked Dorothy. She grinned. "...Missin' Michaela?"

Cal blushed. "No--I mean, yeah, but well, it ain't that." He cleared his throat. "It's just...women," he finally grumbled. He looked up. "...No offense."

Dorothy and Grace glanced at each other and grinned softly.

"Wanna tell us what happened?" queried Dorothy.

"Maybe we could help," Grace added. She raised her eyebrow. "We are women, after all."

Cal thought about it for a moment, then rubbed his thighs, taking a deep breath. "Well, see...things were going fine, just fine between me and Mike, you know, with courting."

"We know," replied Dorothy, resting her arms on the table.

"What went wrong?" spoke up Grace, taking the pitcher and filling two glasses with cider for Dorothy and herself.

Cal scratched his head. "I ain't exactly sure myself, but she hasn't said hardly two words to me since the day before she and Byron left."

"That doesn't sound like Michaela," remarked Dorothy, sipping her cider. "She wouldn't behave that way without good reason."

"Well, we kinda got talking about her wedding ring," Cal admitted. "She still...you know, wears it."

"Oh," breathed Dorothy.

"Oh," echoed Grace.

"I don't really mind the ring all that much, really I don't," he told them. "It's just the fact that she can't take it off that...that..." He trailed off.

"That hurts your feelin's," Dorothy supplied sympathetically.

Cal sobered. "I s'pose, a little bit. "

"I figure Dr. Mike and Sully were in the same place, awhile back," Grace spoke up. "Took 'em both a long time 'fore they let the other into their heart."

"What do you mean?" Cal queried.

"Oh, he doesn't know," Dorothy murmured, surprised.

"Know what?" asked Cal curiously.

"...Sully got married back before the war," Dorothy told him, "a few years before Michaela came here from Boston, before she met him."

"Sully was married before?" Cal questioned. "Mike never told me that."

"Maybe it just never came up," Grace surmised, encircling her cider glass with her hands.

"Who was he married to? What happened?" pressed Cal.

"Abigail Bray," Dorothy told him.

"...Mr. Bray?"

"Loren's daughter," Dorothy affirmed. "My niece. Sweet, beautiful girl. They got married real young...She died not long before Michaela came here," Dorothy went on.

"Baby, too," Grace added.

"Baby?" Cal took a few deep breaths, digesting it all. "Sully must've been..."

"Heartbroken," finished Dorothy softly. "Kept away from all of us in town for a long time. Then Michaela came--she'd lost someone, too."

"Who?" Cal asked quickly, leaning forward.

"Her fiancé...David," Grace told him.

"Fiancé?" breathed Cal. Michaela sure had a lot of secrets in her heart.

"That was a real long time ago," Dorothy reminded him. "Michaela and Sully became real good friends right from the start. They gave each other time, and after awhile they both knew they were ready to move on..."

"When's Mike gonna know it's time to move on?" Cal asked quietly.

Dorothy's eyes filled with tears. "Cal, a few years ago, my best friend was dyin'. Then she met you, and there was a light in her eyes I hadn't seen since Sully was alive."

"She loves ya, Cal," Grace put in softly. "We all see it in her eyes. When the time's right, she'll see it, too."

"Just be patient. That time ain't far off," Dorothy added. "I'm sure of it."

"Me, too," added Grace with a smile.

Cal smiled softly, reaching across the table to take their hands. "Thanks. I appreciate this."

"Talk with her, Cal," Dorothy suggested. "Tell her what ya told us. Honesty. That's what women like."

"You think so?" Cal replied.

"We know so," chuckled Grace.

"Found it," called Brian, coming to the table and holding up his book. "Right on Ma's desk where I left it."

"Good," Cal replied, lifting Katie onto his lap.

"What we gonna do next?" the child asked, confident Cal had something fun planned up his sleeve.

Cal bit his lip. "Now we're gonna...send a wire to Byron and your ma." He winked at Grace and Dorothy, and they smiled back.

"An' say what?" queried Katie.

"And say...hello," replied Cal, kissing her head.

to be continued...


	20. Chapter 32

Chapter Thirty-two

Michaela hadn't minded Dr. Patterson's large, cool fingers, securely clutching her arm throughout the entire tour of the hospital, nor was she offended by the prolonged kiss he had placed on her hand at the conclusion of the evening. She was flattered by his endless compliments--from her clothing to her inquisitiveness, he had something flirtatious to say about everything. She didn't even mind when he introduced her to his colleagues, exaggerating her accomplishments. It was when the doctor insisted, not willing to listen to any arguments, that he escort Michaela and Byron back to their hotel, that Michaela felt a twinge of anxiousness she couldn't deny.

The ride back to the hotel only increased Michaela's anxiety. She pressed herself against the side of the streetcar, moving away from the doctor, but he only slid closer, placing his hand on her knee and caressing her fondly. She should have protested, but didn't. Byron was in her lap, enjoying the ride, and she didn't want him to take notice of her uneasiness and be upset. Even more than that, the little boy would no doubt be full of questions she wasn't prepared to answer. Michaela saw that Dr. Patterson was taking her silence as shyness and nothing more, and just as she was debating whether to say something to him after all, the streetcar at last pulled to a stop in front of the hotel.

More than ready to bid the persistent physician goodnight, Michaela hurriedly placed Byron on the seat, picked up her medical bag, climbed down from the coach without waiting for assistance, and lifted her son from the seat to her hip.

"Just a minute, Michaela. I'll walk you to your room," Dr. Patterson said relentlessly, fumbling with his billfold to pay the driver.

"No, thank you," Michaela said quickly. "Thank you for the tour. We'll see you in six months. Good-bye."

Without waiting for a reply, Michaela hastened up the steps and inside, alleviated at last from the unpleasant situation. She placed Byron on his feet and took a moment to catch her breath, standing in the middle of the bustling hotel lobby.

"Let's wide stweet car 'gain, Mama," Byron suggested, smiling up at her.

"Oh, did you like that?" Michaela replied, trying to disguise the relief in her voice as they headed to the stairs.

"Uh-huh," he said, nodding enthusiastically.

"We'll take one to the train station tomorrow morning," Michaela told him.

"Goody," replied Byron. "...Cal is gonna get stweet car, 'member? In Col-rado Spings. We gonna have us own stweet car, and I can wide all day, Cal says so. Right, Mama?"

Michaela cleared her throat, slowing her pace for Byron as they began ascending the broad staircase to the rooms. "If Cal said, I suppose."

"Yep," he agreed. "An' it's gonna be fun, fun, fun." Byron tugged at his mother's hand, confused. "Wong way. Wong way, silly."

Instead of heading up another flight of carpeted stairs, Michaela had turned down the two hundred wing. Byron remembered how to get to their room. Two long, tiring flights of stairs up, not one.

"Wong way," the little boy insisted once more.

"We'll go to our room in a moment, Brynie," Michaela finally said. "I want to see something quickly."

"What?" Byron questioned, but his mother didn't answer. He sighed and looked about him.

The second floor was fancier than the third floor. The hallway was wider, the carpet less worn, the doors spaced further apart, and the people more exorbitantly dressed. Framed landscape watercolors adorned the walls, and several deep green plants in gold-coated pots were scattered about the hallway.

Michaela slowed to a stop, turning to face a closed door. She touched the fancy brass numbers tentatively with her fingers, fond memories filling her heart. "Two-hundred fifteen."

Byron scratched his head with his free hand. "One, two, free, four, five, se-ven, eight, nine, ten, 'leven, fir-teen..." He trailed off. "Mama, you can teach me 'bout counting way high." He pulled her sleeve impatiently. "'Kay, Mama? Then I count high." He pointed at the three-digit number. "Teach me. Pease?"

Michaela caressed his head, staring straight ahead. "Not right at this minute."

He sighed. "All wight, but next min-et?"

Suddenly, the door burst open, revealing a young, handsome couple, holding hands, giggling and whispering to each other.

Startled, Byron encircled his arms around Michaela's leg tightly as she backed against the wall.

Speechless for a moment, the couple broke apart, staring at Michaela and then the little boy.

Michaela cleared her throat, embarrassed. "I'm sorry." She took Byron's hand, stepping away from the wall and turning to depart. "Come on, sweetheart."

The man took a step forward, putting his arm around his elegantly clothed wife. "Are you looking for someone, ma'am?"

Michaela paused, slowly veering back. "Well...I was just..." She glanced at the room number again, lip quivering.

"Can we help you with something?" the woman asked kindly, clutching her lace umbrella with gloved hands. "Are you...are you lost?"

Michaela shook her head. "No, I'm not lost."

"Wong way," Byron whispered boldly.

Michaela took a deep breath. "This room...the honeymoon suite. I--my husband and I stayed in it."

"Oh, is that so?" the man said, smiling.

"How nice. When was this?" his wife asked curiously.

Michaela bit her lip to keep it from trembling. "...Almost six years ago."

The man stroked his mustache. "Would you like to take a peek inside?"

"Oh, yes, please do," the woman agreed. "Tell us how it's changed."

"Oh, could I?" Michaela murmured.

The couple stepped back into the room, the woman gesturing inside with one hand. "Come in, please."

Michaela fought back tears as she picked Byron up and entered the lavish hotel room. The furniture was the same polished, intricately carved mahogany Sully had run his hands over in admiration. A door with a window led to a small balcony with the same beautiful view of the mountains, a view Michaela had never forgotten. A small fire was dying in the marble fireplace and the same gold-framed, spotless mirror hung above the mantel. A pair of armchairs and a matching sofa were arranged before the fireplace, in the exact places they had been six years ago, when Sully had tossed their luggage onto the sofa and lifted Michaela into his arms with a wry smile, not spending a second on anything but her, tenderly laying her on the bed, not wanting to let her out of his sight.

Silently, Michaela put Byron on his feet and took a step closer to the bed. There she and Sully had laid all morning their first day in Denver, whispering to each other, kissing, caressing, making love, dozing off in each other's arms.

"Let's come back here," Sully had murmured against her cheek. "Let's come back in ten years to this same room. See how things've changed."

"See how we've changed," Michaela had replied, bringing their joined hands to her lips and kissing his fingers.

"Nothin's ever gonna change between you and me, Michaela," he had said, nuzzling her neck lovingly.

Michaela smiled tearfully at the memory. Little did they know how much things would change.

The young man cleared his throat, straightening the lapels of his suit coat and stepping toward Michaela. "Are you all right, ma'am?"

Michaela nodded quickly, turning away from the bed to face them. "Everything...everything looks just the same."

The woman smiled, taking her husband's arm. "It's a beautiful room, isn't it? More than we could have ever anticipated."

Michaela returned the smile faintly. "Yes."

A creaking from the king sized bed startled Michaela, and she turned to see Byron jumping up and down on the middle of the soft mattress. "This bed...bed is bouncy, Mama!" he laughed, out of breath, hair flying in the air.

"Byron, no, no!" Michaela scolded, hurriedly coming to him and lifting him down to the floor as she smoothed the thick velvet bedspread with one hand. "How many times have I told you beds are not for jumping? Honestly." She glanced at the couple. "I'm so sorry."

The little boy only giggled, catching his breath as he took his mother's hand. Worriedly, Michaela knelt to his level, clutching his arms. "Are you all right, sweetheart? Are you having difficulty breathing?"

He shook his head. "Nope, I good, Mama," he assured her, noting her troubled expression. "...I breavin', I pwomise," he added insistently.

Hesitantly, Michaela rose to her feet. "...Then apologize to this nice couple for jumping on their bed."

"Oh, that's all right," the woman chuckled softly.

"No harm done," her husband added.

Michaela smiled softly. "Thank you for letting me look inside...it means a lot to me."

"Our pleasure," the man said kindly, taking his wife's hand.

&&&

"Eighteen," Michaela said, lifting a teakettle filled with water from the fire with a towel.

"Eighteen," echoed Byron, tucked snuggly under the covers in the bed, stuffed rabbit in hand.

"Nineteen," Michaela went on.

"Nine-teen," repeated the little boy.

"Twenty."

"Twen-y."

"Twenty," Michaela said again. She poured the steaming water into a washbowl.

"Twen-tee," Byron repeated.

"Good." Michaela put a cloth from her medical bag into the bowl and walked to the bed, placing it on the nightstand. "That's enough for now I think." She wrung out the cloth over the bowl, Byron looking on thoughtfully.

Michaela pulled down the covers, sitting beside her son. "Now we'll put this on your tummy and you're going to feel much better." She unbuttoned his nightshift and laid the cloth across his stomach, pressing it to his skin with her hand as he let out a quick breath at the sudden warmth.

"Don't want this, Mama," Byron insisted, tugging at one end of the cloth. "I good."

"...Even though you feel well now, this could help discourage your attacks. Preventative medicine." She stroked his hair. "Like the shot I gave you and your big sister for smallpox. That wasn't because you were ill, but so you wouldn't be."

"Why I get 'tacks?" he asked innocently.

Michaela bit her lip. "I...we don't know, sweetheart. I wish we did."

"Mama...I sorry," he said softly, frowning.

"Oh, darling, you don't have anything to be sorry for," Michaela kissed his furrowed brow. "Listen to me. Nothing you did caused this, do you understand? Nothing."

A polite knock on the door startled both mother and son.

"Now who do you suppose that is?" Michaela asked, standing up.

Byron raised his eyebrows. "I dunno, who you s'pose?" he echoed.

"I'll go see," Michaela said, patting his hand.

"I see, too," Byron replied, sitting up and picking up the cloth.

"No, you stay right there," Michaela told him, removing the room key from her petticoat pocket, "...and put that back where it was."

Pouting, Byron sunk back against the pillows, repositioning the cloth.

Michaela unlocked the door, opening it a few inches.

"Um..." A teenaged bellhop with blushing red cheeks, his hat slightly crocked, cleared his throat. "Telegram and delivery for a-" He squinted at a small piece of yellow paper, holding it away from him. "...A Mr. Michael Quinn." He peeked around Michaela into the room, one hand positioned rigidly behind his back.

Michaela opened the door wider, smiling softly. "Mr. Quinn? Oh...that would be me."

The bellhop looked her briefly up and down, coughing. "You? I mean, I'm not supposed to give this telegram to anyone but Michael Quinn, room three-hundred nineteen." He glanced at the room number on the door, and then studied the telegram. "Maybe they got it wrong here."

Michaela chuckled. "No, this is the correct room. That middle initial...it's more important than most people realize."

The bellhop raised one eyebrow. "What? I mean, pardon me, ma'am?"

Michaela grinned. "Never mind. Hold on one moment." Locating her purse on the nightstand, she opened it in search of a coin to tip the flustered young man.

"Who it is, Mama?" Byron asked excitedly from the bed. It was all he could do not to jump down, grasp Michaela's hand, and follow her back to the door.

"A telegram," Michaela whispered, smiling wryly.

Byron clapped his hands. "Tel-gram! Who fwom? Who fwom? Bian? Cal? Katie? Wof? Miss Dort-y? Miss Gwace-?"

"Be patient one more second, Brynie, and I'll bring it to you," Michaela chuckled, returning to the door and giving the bellhop the nickel. She held out her hand for the paper, and was perplexed when the bellhop hesitated, moving his lips silently as he reread the telegram.

"You see, ma'am," he began uncertainly, "I'm not exactly supposed to give it to you...it says here I'm supposed to...supposed to..." He removed his hand from behind his back, producing an elegant bouquet of a dozen roses. "...supposed to hide these here flowers and then surprise Michael Quinn."

Michaela gasped. "Oh, my goodness," she uttered, weakly clutching the bundle of roses as the young man put it in her arms.

He coughed once more. "Well, if you could find this Quinn fellow, and pass those on to him...I'd appreciate it." He tipped his hat. "Good day, ma'am--or good afternoon...goodnight, I guess." With that he sped down the hallway, glad to be free at last of the extravagant flower bouquet supposedly for a man!

Slowly, Michaela stepped back into the room, shutting the door.

"A pwesent, Mama?" Byron asked impatiently. "Ooo...fwowers." Roses weren't exactly his idea of the best present, but they were more exciting than nothing.

Michaela pulled a little envelope from the bouquet, then silently arranged the roses in a pitcher, placing it on the nightstand next to the washbowl. She sat on the edge of the bed, opened the envelope, and pulled out a card.

"Tell, Mama," encouraged Byron with a smile, sitting up and grasping her shoulder.

"...Just a note to say hello," Michaela read softly, "and we miss you. Love Brian, Katie...and Cal."

Byron rested his head against her arm, sighing happily as he touched the calligraphy handwriting. "Wish them could come, too."

"They," Michaela corrected, startled by the curtness in her voice. She rose from the bed and propped the note up against the pitcher, gazing at the brilliant red roses.

Byron leaned back against the pillows. "I miss dey," he announced.

"Them," Michaela said, more gently.

Byron squinted his eyes, confused.

Michaela returned to the bed, placing a loving kiss on the tip of his nose. "That's all right, sweetheart." The little boy grinned softly as she took one of his hands. "Oh, Brynie. You look just like your daddy when you smile like that."

"You miss Sull-wee, Mama?" he asked softly, stroking her cheek.

"Oh, very much," Michaela murmured hoarsely. "Being here in Denver...it's bringing back a lot of memories. I don't know if I ever told you that Mama and Papa...we had our honeymoon here. We stayed in this very hotel, in the room you and I visited."

"Honey-moon?" he echoed.

She smiled. "It's...a little holiday mamas and papas take...by themselves, right after they've married."

"Why?" Byron questioned.

Michaela touched his cheek with a wry grin. "To celebrate. Your papa and I had the most wonderful time. We could have stayed here for days and days longer."

Byron frowned. "But ya miss me an' Katie an'-"

Michaela chuckled. "Sweetheart, you and Katie weren't born yet. But we did miss Brian and Colleen and Matthew, of course."

"You wanna stay Den-va days an' days?" he went on. "Mama, don't ya miss Cal?"

Brought up short, Michaela stammered, "Of course...of course I do. We'll be home tomorrow." In need of a distraction, she pulled a rose from the pitcher, sniffing it. "Mmm...doesn't this smell nice?" She held it under his nose.

"Pwetty," he giggled, inhaling deeply.

"Oh, no. Plants..." Michaela murmured suddenly. She snatched the rose away. "He could be sensitive to plants." Hastily, she returned the flower and picked up the pitcher, searching for another location.

"Mama," Byron said, grasping her sleeve. "Mama, sit. Tell me story...sit."

Pausing, Michaela gazed at him worriedly. Not more than a few hours out of the hospital and she had directly exposed him to exactly what the doctor had suggested might cause an attack.

Byron scratched his nose, eyeing the pitcher his mother clutched to her breast. "Pwetty fwowers," he remarked.

Michaela fought back tears. Is this what it was going to be like from now on, always on guard, keeping Byron away from the pleasures of life on the chance that something might upset his system? She longed for someone who would listen as she voiced her fears, her anger, how unfair things were for her little boy. She needed to talk to someone who knew her and understood her, who wouldn't belittle her concerns, but be reassuring just the same. If only she could cry; let down her guard for one moment.

Slowly, Michaela rested the pitcher back on the nightstand. "What story would you like, darling?"

"Winkin', Noddin', Binkin'," he said immediately. "...Noddin', Binkin' sailed boat on da sea..." he prompted. "Now your tuwn."

Michaela removed the cloth from his belly, placing it in the bowl. "I'm afraid Mama doesn't know that one. I'm sorry."

"Hmm, that's all wight," he told her. "I know, you can tell me 'bout..." He tapped his chin. "...Honey-moon!"

"Honeymoon?" Michaela croaked, but couldn't refuse Byron's blue eyes, shining with antisipation. "Honeymoon, hm? Let's see. I'll give you the shortened version, how's that?"

"'Kay," he agreed quickly. "Go," he encouraged.

"All right," Michaela chuckled. "'Honeymoon' began when your papa and I stepped off the train, and saw one of the most beautiful cities in the country..."

&&&

"...And even though it was a lovely two weeks, when we got home we were so glad to be back in Colorado Springs, and eager to move into the homestead and begin the rest of...our...lives..." Michaela planted a gentle kiss on Byron's brow. He'd fallen asleep some time ago. "The end," she whispered.

She stood carefully from the bed, pausing in front of the roses for a moment. At last she let loose a tired sigh, then walked across the room to dress for bed.

Warm and snug in her flannel nightgown, Michaela added a log to the dying fire, then returned to the bed, crawling under the covers and gathering Byron into her arms. Instinctively, the slumbering little boy clutched her nightgown with two small fists, nestling against her.

"Sweet dreams, Brynie," Michaela told him, closing her eyes.

A sudden, sharp knocking startled Michaela, causing her to bolt straight up in bed. Bewildered, she quickly lit a lamp and donned her bathrobe.

The knock sounded again, a bit more demanding. "Michaela?" called an eerily familiar voice.

"...Dr. Patterson?" Michaela murmured in disbelief, sliding her feet into her slippers and hurrying to answer it. "Dr. Patterson," she said as she opened the door slightly. "What are you...doing...?"

Dressed in a long suit coat, hair slicked back, hands folded neatly in front of him, the tall doctor let out a chuckle, eyeing her from head to toe. "Michaela. My goodness, what are we wearing?"

She folded her arms self-consciously. "I've gone to bed," she explained, embarrassed. "Can I help you with something? Is there an emergency, at the hospital?"

He waved one hand. "No, no. Just stopped by to...retired already, have you? Why, for heaven's sake. It's only nine o'clock!"

Michaela's embarrassment deepened. "Well...Byron...we have a train to catch tomorrow...we were tired," she stammered.

He clicked his tongue. "I see. Well, no harm done. Go on, get dressed. I'll wait."

"Get dressed...whatever for?" she demanded. "Doctor, it's been a long day. We're tired; we've gone to bed."

He pushed the door open wider with one hand, and Michaela was forced to take a step back.

"I would love for you to join me for a glass of fine red wine," he said, removing his hat. "Would you do me the honor? I know a lovely little Italian restaurant a short stroll down the street."

Disconcerted, Michaela cleared her throat. "Dr. Patterson...that's very kind of you, but I can't just leave, and even if I could, I don't really care for wi-"

"Ah, a temperance woman. Admirable, Michaela, admirable. Well, then, you shall have whatever you desire, and I will sample the wine. Finest in all of Denver.

Michaela couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. "Dr. Patterson, I can't leave my son. I'm going back to bed now. Thank you for dropping by..." She reached to close the door, but the doctor stopped it with the toe of his polished black boot.

"Yes, of course. Little Lord Byron." He took a step into the room, placing his large hand on her shoulder. "It must be difficult...raising a child all alone. How lonely it must be. No doubt you crave the support and attention of a man."

Michaela nervously backed away. "I think it would be best if you leave now, doctor. Please."

"Come now, Michaela," he chided. "What is it you're frightened of? I only want to get to know you better." Grinning softly, he brushed a wisp of hair back from her brow. "Yes, I would love to get to know you better."

"Mama!" a little voice called. Thankful for an excuse to break away, Michaela immediately went to Byron's side, picking him up.

"Shh, Brynie, it's all right. Mommy's here," she soothed, rubbing his back.

"What is this spectacle?" Dr. Patterson demanded, annoyed at the interruption. He hurried to the boy and laid his hand firmly on his back.

Startled by the doctor's deep voice and imposing figure, casting dark shadows in the dim light of the room, Byron closed his eyes tight and whimpered against Michaela's shoulder.

"You're not an infant, young man," the doctor continued. "Stop this carrying on."

Byron cried harder, rubbing his eyes with his fists.

"He's afraid," Michaela said defensively. "You're frightening him!" Angrily, she pulled away. "I'm not asking you to leave now, Dr. Patterson. I'm telling you."

He put his white-gloved hands on his hips. "Well, if you want to coddle him like that I certainly won't stand by and watch!"

"He's just a little boy," Michaela retorted, hurt. "He needs me."

"Yes, and at the rate you're going, that 'little boy' will be the only man you'll ever share your bed with!" responded the doctor, miffed. He tipped his hat sarcastically. "Good evening Master Byron, Michaela. Sleep well!"

Lip trembling, Michaela followed him to the door, shutting it after him and locking it quickly.

"Mama," sobbed the little boy. "Mama, why he come in here?"

Michaela kissed his head and rocked him comfortingly. "It's all right, darling. Shh." She carried him back to the bed and laid him down, tucking him warmly under the covers. "Go back to sleep," she whispered, stroking his forehead. "Mama's here."

Exhausted, Byron closed his eyes, falling asleep within the minute.

With a deep sigh, Michaela got under the covers and hugged Byron tightly, desperately needing something to hold. Tiredly, the little boy pushed her away, moaning and curling up on his side.

She turned her head to the side, gazing at the roses in the soft moonlight. She was tired of pretending she didn't need anyone else. How she missed Cal, and how she wished he were here. As much as it plagued her with guilt and uncertainty, she needed him. Perhaps even loved him.

A tender, warm hand grasped Michaela's shoulder. She turned slowly, not startled, as if she had been expecting someone.

"It's all right," Sully's deep, soothing voice said. His soft smile, his loving, compassionate gaze were all the same, as if he had never been gone.

"Sully," Michaela murmured plaintively.

He knelt beside her, holding her tight. "I've missed ya," he whispered, pressing his lips to her cheek.

"Oh, I miss you so much," Michaela told him, grasping his familiar white cotton shirt tightly.

He pulled back, glancing at the flowers and taking her hand, squeezing it. "Michaela, it's all right."

"I don't understand," she said. "What's all right?"

"Bein' happy," he told her, as if it were obvious.

"Oh, Sully, I am happy," she replied plaintively. She nodded at Byron, suckling his thumb. "Look at your son, Sully. He's beautiful. And Brian and Katie, they've grown so much. Matthew, Colleen. You'd be so proud."

He nodded slowly. "I am...but Michaela, you're missin' something. You aren't the same."

"I'm missing you," she whispered, a tear slipping down her cheek.

He wiped it away with his thumb. "Don't ya remember?" he whispered. "Don't ya remember what we talked about?"

She shook her head, confused. "Please, Sully. I don't know what you mean."

"I worry about ya," he said. "You're lost."

"I have the children," Michaela said. "I love them. What I do is always for them."

He cupped her cheek in his hands. "Do this for yourself, and you'll be doing it for them."

"Do what?" Michaela murmured. "...Sully," she choked, hugging him to her. "Oh, I do care for Cal, but..."

"Listen t' me, ya can't keep goin' on like this." He pressed his lips to hers, giving her a tender last kiss. "...Wherever I am, I'll always be in your heart. You remember, Michaela. Ya gotta try t' remember."

Michaela closed her eyes tight, hugging his neck and resting her head against his shoulder. "Sully, please. Don't leave me again. I love you so much. Please..."

"Sully?" Michaela immediately called, panting. She looked about her, trying to catch her breath. The winter air was chilly; only a few small red coals lingered in the fireplace. She placed her hand on a sleeping Byron's back. Sully was gone. Rubbing her head, Michaela realized...he had been a dream. The morning sun peeked through the curtains, and activity down below on the busy streets was picking up. A horse whinnied, a dog barked, children giggled on their way to school. "Try to remember," she repeated hoarsely, perplexed by Sully's words. Gathering her senses, Michaela glanced at the clock.

"Oh, no," she whispered aloud. There wasn't time to think about her dream now. Throwing her legs out of bed, she shook Byron's back. "Wake up. Wake up, Brynie." She began unbuttoning her nightgown with one hand.

The little boy opened his eyes a sliver, groaning in protest.

"Come on. We need to get up and get ready to leave," Michaela told him, sitting him up in bed. "We'll be late for our train if we don't hurry."

He rubbed his eyes leisurely, yawning.

Michaela found her dress hanging in the wardrobe, then opened the bathroom door. "You wake yourself up while I'm changing, and when I'm finished it'll be your turn to get dressed."

Though somewhat out of breath, Michaela managed to make it to the train station within the hour, the carpetbag, her medical bag, the paper bag of medicines from the hospital, the bundle of flowers, and Byron all in tow. Once on the train Byron was wide awake and full of questions, asking about Dr. Patterson and his visit to their room, and about a veteran missing an arm sitting a few seats in front of them, and inquiring when they would be home. Michaela barely had a minute with her own thoughts, and when the train pulled to a stop in Colorado Springs, she wasn't prepared to face Cal, as much as she was glad to have left Denver.

to be continued...


	21. Chapter 33

Chapter Thirty-three

"...Then we walked all over, and then I gots tired so Cal pulled me all over on the sled, an' then we saw some birds, and then a deer, Mama!" Katie told her mother enthusiastically, climbing up on the bed as Michaela finished unpacking. "Cal says it's a boy 'cause it got ant'...ant'...got horns."

"Antlers," Michaela said with a smile, folding her nightgown and placing it back in the drawer.

"Yeah," Katie said. She pulled out a pair of her mother's shoes from the carpetbag and walked over to the wardrobe.

"And where was Brian while you were on this little adventure?" Michaela queried.

"Home," Katie informed her, placing the shoes on the floor of the wardrobe and then returning to the bed. "He never wants fun no more. I begged an' begged him to come."

Michaela grew quiet. "Is that so?"

Katie brightened. "But Brian played checkers wid me when Cal was writin' lots of big numbers for the stweetcar."

Michaela nodded, setting her brush on the vanity. Apparently Brian didn't mind entertaining his sister, but would rather not have anything to do with Cal.

"Did ya bring me a pwesent, Mama?" Katie asked finally, unable to hold her curiosity any longer.

Michaela put on a frown. "I'm afraid there wasn't much time to look for presents..." She reached into her carpetbag, pulling out a small silver tin. "But I managed to pick these up at the train station."

Katie beamed, pulling off the lid. "Candy!"

"Mints," Michaela told her, giving her a kiss on the head.

"Thank you!" spoke the little girl, popping one into her mouth.

"You're welcome. Share them with your brothers," Michaela instructed.

"All right," sighed the little girl. She sat cross-legged, the tin in her lap. "Is Byron real sick?" she asked softly.

Michaela sat beside her, putting an arm around her and taking a deep breath. "Well, Byron has an illness called asthma, but it's very treatable."

"Med-cine?" Katie spoke.

"Yes, with medicine, and changing some of our habits, and watching him very closely. Sometimes he'll have attacks--he'll have difficulty breathing--but we'll all learn what to do to help him when that happens."

"What I do to help?" she asked, taking her mother's hand.

Michaela squeezed it tight. "I think the best thing you can do is come and get me."

"All right," Katie agreed.

"You've been such a good girl these past few days," Michaela told her. "I'm so very proud of you. I'm sorry I couldn't take you to Denver. It was best for you to stay here."

"Cal and me had fun," Katie replied with a smile. "Mama, I decided."

"Decided what?" Michaela queried.

"Girl's day," Katie said. "'Member?"

"Ah, yes. Our girl's day," chuckled Michaela. "What would you like to do?"

"Horsey ride!" she giggled.

"A ride in the wagon? All right," Michaela agreed.

"No, Mama. On the horsey up in the seat."

"Oh," Michaela said quietly. "I'm afraid you're a little young to sit in a saddle, sweetheart."

Katie nodded. "But Cal says I can. Up in your lap, Mama."

"Oh, you talked to Cal about this?" Michaela questioned.

"Cal gives me ideas," the little girl informed her. "Pic-nic: too cold. Walk: too cold. Wagon ride: that's no fun. Horsey ride: yes!" She climbed into her mother's lap, cuddling against her as she had when she was an infant. "Please, Mama? Please?"

Michaela cradled her in her arms. "Well, I suppose if I hold onto you tight...it'd be all right."

"Yea!" Katie giggled.

"Yea!" Michaela laughed. She cleared her throat. "Um, Katie? How has Cal been while I was gone?" She had expected Cal to be waiting for them at the train station, but was surprised when only Brian and Katie were there. Cal was working out some business with the streetcar at the bank, Brian had explained, but he had said he would stop by that evening.

Katie shrugged. "Good." She let out a small yawn.

"And I suppose he tucked you into bed last night at eight o'clock on the nose as I instructed," Michaela said wryly, knowing that had probably not been the case.

"Uh-huh," the little girl replied.

"Uh-huh," Michaela echoed with a grin. "...I remember holding you just like this when you were a baby," she said whimsically.

"Was I a real good little baby?" Katie asked curiously.

"You were wonderful," Michaela told her. "You were warm and sweet, and so small. And so darling."

"I was cute," Katie surmised.

Michaela chuckled. "Adorable. Your papa...your papa would put his finger in your hand, and you'd squeeze it tight. He couldn't get enough of you. He loved his little girl so much, Katie. Don't ever forget how much he loved you," she whispered.

Katie nodded solemnly. "I won't."

Michaela's breath caught. She gazed down at Katie, and then looked up. Her dream suddenly made sense. Everything Sully had said, that she had wondered about all day; all at once it became clear...

"I feel much better, Sully," Michaela murmured, "now that we've decided Grace and Robert E. will be her godparents." She glanced at her husband, smiling softly.

Sully gently stroked Katie's head as she nursed. He would never stop marveling at this beautiful little creature Michaela and he had created. "Yeah, me too."

She drew in her breath. "Have you ever thought...what if something happened to just one of us?"

His hand froze. "Michaela, I don't like it when ya talk like this."

"No, I know, but we need to have this discussion. People don't live forever. We have a child now, and we should think about her future."

He nodded reluctantly. "I just want her loved and taken care of, that's all. I know you'd do that if ever I couldn't be here."

"Sully, if something were to happen to me...I think you should...you should try to find love again."

"Michaela...no," he protested. "I can't think about this. 'Sides, that ain't ever gonna be."

"For Katie, Sully," she responded patiently. "She needs parents. A mother and a father who care for her and for each other, too."

"I'd never be able to love someone like I do you, Michaela." He caressed her cheek. "I just couldn't."

"But you must try," she insisted gently. "Even if...even if it's not the same, do your best to love the woman, be good to her, and see she's good to the children."

Sully thought about it for some time, gazing at his wife, then their precious daughter. "Can't imagine what things would be like if I hadn't let myself love again...after losing Abigail. Michaela, if I couldn't be here, I'd want you an' Katie t' be happy," he admitted. "I'd want you to try t' try t' find someone, too." He nodded firmly. "You make sure he treats ya good, and that he's extra good t' Kates."

She smiled. "You know I would." She stroked his hair. "But I too could never find the love we share again. Of that I'm certain."

"You're right. Wouldn't be good for either of us to spend the rest of our lives alone, 'specially now with the baby to look after," he surmised. "Guess ya can give all the love ya have to the kids...but if ya ain't happy yourself...it wouldn't be enough."

She gave him a kiss on his cheek, gazing into his eyes lovingly. "Wherever I am, I'll always be in your heart," she told him. "I'll always support whatever you decide, even if ever I couldn't be here."

"And I'll always be in your heart, standing by ya, Michaela," he responded tenderly. "Forever."

Katie patted her mother's hand worriedly. "What's the matter, Mama?" she asked.

Returning to the present, Michaela forced a smile and sat Katie up, rubbing her back. "Nothing. Nothing, sweetheart," she assured her. "I was just...just remembering something I haven't thought about in a long time." She hugged her tight. "Katie, I love you."

"I love you," the child replied. "I hope Cal stays a long, long time," she went on. "He's fun."

Michaela caressed her hair, closing her eyes. "I hope so, too, Katie. I hope so, too."

&&&

At nine o'clock that evening, after tucking the children into bed, Michaela took the paper bag from Dr. Patterson downstairs to the kitchen table and emptied its contents. Wearily, she arranged the medicines in front of her, then pencil in hand, opened a medical textbook and proceeded to read up on each of them.

Michaela barely heard a knock at the door a few minutes later. Marking her place in the textbook by folding a corner of the page, she closed it and rose to answer the door.

"Cal," she murmured, glad he was here, yet not sure what to say to him.

"I hope it's not too late for me to be calling," he replied, removing his hat and jacket and hanging them on the rack to his right. "I came when I could."

"No, come in, sit down," she bid, shutting the door behind him and leading him into the kitchen. "Would you like some coffee? Or I can warm you up something to eat?"

He waved his hand. "I'm fine, thanks. Um, sorry about not being there when ya got home." He pulled out a chair and sat.

"Brian said you were at the bank. Is everything all right?" Michaela asked worriedly, taking a seat herself.

"Oh, everything's fine. Looks like I'm gonna need to take out a loan to get my business off the ground, that's all. But don't you fret. These streetcars are gonna pay for themselves and then some."

"I just want you to be careful," Michaela replied softly. "Mr. Lodge can be so..."

"Demanding?" Cal supplied with a grin. "Aw, he don't scare me." He looked over the pile of medicines Michaela had laid out, picking up a box. "'Dr. Whetzel's Cigarettes for the temporary relief of paro...par-oxysms'," he read. "Cigarettes, Mike?"

"Dr. Patterson said we should try everything until we find what works," Michaela said stiffly, pretending to read the textbook.

"How did it go with him?" Cal asked quietly.

She took a deep breath. "...It's asthma."

"Well, we already knew that," Cal told her. He reached for her hand, and reluctantly, she took it. "So like the quack says, we'll try everything till he's better. He'll be just like new."

"Dr. Patterson isn't a quack," she responded.

"Mike, come on," he chuckled. "What kinda doc gives a three-year-old cigarettes? A quack, that's who."

"He's a very respected physician," Michaela responded. "And besides, the cigarettes aren't for right now. When he's older-"

"Might as well take the little guy to the saloon and offer him a drink." Cal shook his head, picking up a bottle. "'New and Improved Kutnow's Anti-Asthmatic Powder'. Now if something's new, how could it have been improved? Think about it."

"Stop it," Michaela scolded bitterly, withdrawing her hand.

Cal sombered. "...Ya just gotta laugh about it. Helps when you're facing tough times."

Michaela bent her head, trying to hide her upset.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Cal murmured. "...I didn't mean anything by it. I was just trying to get a grin out of ya, that's all. Ya've been through a lot these past few days." He rose from his chair and sat in the chair beside her, taking her in his arms. Despite his attempts to comfort her, Michaela couldn't manage a smile, and concerned, Cal held her tighter. "Mike, what is it? Byron's gonna be fine."

She shook her head.

"Oh, sure he will," he insisted. He cupped her cheek with one hand, turning her head to look at him. "I promise-" he said again, but paused. Something more was in her eyes, something she was keeping from him. "Michaela...what happened?" he asked softly.

She swallowed hard. She had tried to hide it as best she could on the outside, but Cal had seen past her facade. Without intending to, she told him everything. She told him about Dr. Patterson, and how she had thought she was imagining it at first, but soon could no longer deny the physician's determination to have something more than a friendship with her. Voice unsteady, she talked about the demanding knock at her door so late in the evening, Dr. Patterson pushing his way into the hotel room, and making her child cry with his intimidating advances. And to add to all this there was Byron's asthma to worry about, the reason for the trip.

"I'll kill 'im," Cal said ardently once she had finished.

"No," Michaela protested. "Cal, it's all right. I just...I wasn't expecting it, that's all."

He sighed. "One thing's for sure. There's no way in hell I'm letting him come near ya again. Or Byron," he added.

"Dr. Patterson is the finest pediatrician in Colorado," Michaela murmured. "He'll help Brynie." She squeezed his hand, resting her head beneath his chin. "I just wish you had been there with us," she whispered.

His breath caught. "Ya do?"

"Hm-mm," she whispered.

"This is all my fault, Mike. I feel like I ain't done enough to help," he said.

"No, you've done so much." Michaela replied earnestly. "I can't thank you enough for staying here with Katie and Brian."

"Oh, I was happy to do it. It ain't every day I get to crawl around on my hands and knees and have the prettiest little girl in all of Colorado love me and look after me."

"Oh, no," Michaela murmured with a wry smile. "What did she get you to do?"

He chuckled. "'House', she calls it. We played it all morning the other day. I was the baby. Katie was my ma. She wore--or more like swam in--one of your dresses outta the wardrobe. I hope that's all right. And I got to wear a bib."

"You shouldn't let her talk you into such things," Michaela chastised.

"Aw, no, it was fun," he insisted.

"You're so good with her," she murmured. "You're good with all of my children. And I've been so callous to you lately. I'm sorry about the way I've been acting."

He glanced at her hand, her fingers threaded with his, her wedding rings reflecting in the soft firelight. "That's all right. Ya got a lot on your mind."

"...I've been thinking about us," she told him.

"I have, too," he admitted. "Mike, I want you to know something..."

"Cal-" she whispered.

He shook his head. "Please, I wanna say this." He cleared his throat. "I know ya love Sully. You don't have to pretend that's in the past for my sake."

Her eyes welled with tears. Tenderly, he stroked her cheek with the back of his hand.

"If you want to wear your wedding ring there's nothing wrong with that," he went on. "You're not really sure how you're feeling, you're feeling torn, and that's all right."

She looked up doubtfully.

"It's all right with me," he insisted. "I ain't asking ya to forget him, to remove him from your heart. I'd never do that. Mike, I love you." He squeezed her hand. "I love you more than anything, and I'm willing to wait until you're ready. I'm willing to give ya all the space ya need. I-I just...I'm hoping there's room in your heart for me, too. Dorothy and Grace told me to tell ya what I'm feeling, so I guess that's what I'm doing. I want us to be honest with each other. If we can't do that...then we don't got much to fall back on."

"Oh, Cal." She gazed at her rings, now knowing for certain what she would do. "If we're being honest," she whispered in reply, "then I have to say the roses were a lovely surprise."

"Roses?" he blurted. "Oh, them. Well, ya know, Brian helped. Said that's you're favorite."

"They made me cry," she admitted.

"Oh, no. That's not what I meant to do."

She grinned shyly. "I missed you."

He hugged her once more. "I missed you." He stroked her hair. "I'm glad ya told me about Dr. Patterson. You can tell me these things. I'll listen. There's nothing ya gotta hide from me."

"And there's nothing you should feel you must hide from me." She slipped her arms around his neck. "Cal, whatever lies ahead, I want you to know I think you're a wonderful man, and a caring, compassionate, beautiful person."

Tenderly, he kissed her cheek. "And whatever happens. You'll always be...my Mike."

&&&

"I'm hoping there's room in your heart for me, too," Michaela whispered aloud, echoing Cal's words. She'd been trying to sleep for hours, to no avail. She'd gotten up three times to check on the children, almost hoping one of them would be awake. At least then she would have someone to talk with, rather than lying awake with nothing for company but her own thoughts.

At last she got out of bed, lit a lamp and brought it over to her vanity. She sat down and folded her hands on the table, gazing at her reflection. Despite the worries over Byron's health she had experienced over the past several days, she thought she looked younger, and happier, and at peace. No, not quite at peace, but close to it.

She touched her fingers to her wedding and engagement rings, twisting them as she thought. Cal loved her; he had voiced that just hours before. He had also said he didn't mind the constant presence of her rings, but Michaela knew wearing them in front of him wasn't right. She did indeed love Sully, but she realized what she was about to do would he would approve of. She could almost hear his voice, telling her she wasn't being fair to Cal, that she should take them off before going any further. Rings or no rings, the Sully she knew would never hold it against her, and love her always, and she him. That would never change.

"Thank you, Sully," Michaela murmured tearfully. She closed her eyes and slipped off her engagement ring, placing it on the vanity. Then she took hold of her wedding ring, and slowly, slid it off her finger. It wasn't as snug as it used to be, and came off easily. She'd lost weight since Sully's death. With a gentle sigh she put the rings in her palm and gazed at them, tears dripping onto the shimmering gold and diamond. Finally, she gave them a soft kiss, and tucked them away in her jewelry box. One day, she'd give Byron the engagement ring for his sweetheart, and she'd pass on the wedding ring to Katie. The rings would be there, waiting, for when her children were grown.

Cal, Katie, and Byron sat cross-legged on the front porch, bent over a large sheet of paper. Brian sat nearby with a book, though it was obvious he wasn't reading, and much more interested in what Cal and the younger children were doing.

"Now we'll have to make the door larger than she is," Cal said, sketching a few lines on the paper with a pencil.

"How come?" Byron asked curiously, taking hold of Cal's arm.

Cal chuckled. "'Cause Wolf's gonna get bigger pretty soon. She won't always be a puppy."

"Oh," breathed the little boy, having never considered that.

Katie tapped her chin. "Can there be a win-dow, Cal?" she spoke up.

He glanced at her. "A window. Well, I ain't ever heard of a dog house with a window, but I don't see why not. That's a good idea, Katie." He sketched a small square on his drawing.

Brian put his book down and joined the group, clearing his throat. "Um..."

Cal looked up at him, surprised. "Brian? Ya got an idea, too?"

"Well, I was just gonna say...if the door's gonna face the road, then the window should be in back," he spoke quietly. He knelt down and took the pencil, quickly sketching his thoughts. "That way Wolf can see the road through the door, and the house through the window. She'll be able to see us comin' whether we're walkin' out of the house or out on the road."

Cal rubbed his chin, nodding. "That's a good thought, Brian. Real good."

Brian handed the pencil back, looking him in the eyes. "...Thanks."

Cal smiled. "Will ya help me build it?"

"Well, I...sure," Brian agreed. He had to admit it sounded like fun.

"Me, too! Me, too!" Byron insisted.

"You can help, too," Cal chuckled, tousling the little boy's wavy locks.

Byron giggled and leaned against him.

"Is this dog house for Ma's birthday, Cal?" Brian asked, sitting cross-legged and folding his hands.

"Oh, no," Cal chuckled. "It's for everyone." He took a deep breath. "Yeah, your ma's birthday. It's coming up."

"Next week," Brian reminded him.

"Yep, I know," Cal replied.

"Well, what ya gonna get her?" Brian asked curiously.

"I'm not sure...but I think maybe I have an idea," Cal murmured. He glanced at each of the children. "If...if I had to go away for a little bit, a week or two say, what would you kids think of that?"

"I will miss you," Katie told him, hugging his arm.

"Yeah," Byron added, frowning.

"But we'd be back right away," he assured them. "Just a week or so. It'd fly by. We'd come right back."

"Well..." said Katie. "If ya come wight back, Cal."

"Yeah, wight back," agreed Byron.

"Who's we?" Brian questioned.

At that moment Michaela appeared in the doorway and Katie jumped up, grasping her hand. "Mama, look! We gonna make a house for Wof!"

"Wof's havin' own housy!" giggled Byron, pointing to the drawing.

"Good morning to you, too," she laughed. "A dog house?" She tilted her head to the side, studying Cal's sketches. "Oh."

Cal stood up. "Yeah. I heard it'd be best if Wolf slept outside, out of the house...so we're gonna build her a nice warm little place to sleep," he explained.

"Oh, Cal. That's so thoughtful," Michaela replied, hugging Katie from behind.

Katie took hold of her mother's hands, and suddenly the absence of something so familiar caught her eye. She turned each hand back and forth, mouth agape. "Mama...I didn't!" she suddenly blurted. She tipped her head back, looking up at her mother. "I didn't touch 'em this time, I promise." She grew tearful. "Please, Mama. They just lost."

"What do you mean, sweetheart?" Michaela asked patiently.

Katie held up her mother's hands. "Your ring, Mama. It's lost!" she breathed.

The group grew quiet. Michaela smiled softly as Brian gave her an understanding nod. At last she took a deep breath, gazing at Cal. "My rings aren't on my finger now, but they're safe. They're not lost." She knelt down and kissed the top of Katie's head. "You don't need to worry about it, darling, all right? You didn't do anything."

"Don't ya love Papa no more?" Katie asked quietly. "Thought it 'minded you of Papa."

Michaela kept her eyes on Cal, and he found himself unable to look away. "You're right...but I've realized I carry your Papa in my heart wherever I am, and I don't need a ring to remind me of that."

Relieved, Katie nodded, putting the incident behind them. "Cal, let's go see where we gonna put Wof's house," she suggested, taking a step down from the porch.

"Yeah, you kids go on ahead and pick out a spot to build it," Cal responded. He patted Byron's back. "Make sure it's a good one."

"'Kay, Cal," said the little boy. He took Brian and Katie's hands. "Come on. Let's go," he begged, leading them down the steps.

Left alone on the porch, Cal and Michaela stood silent for a moment, shyly glancing at each other. At last Cal rolled up the sketch paper, putting it on the bench, the came to Michaela and stood in front of her. "Mike...ya didn't have to," he whispered.

"No, it's what's right," Michaela replied, folding her hands in front of her.

Cal shifted his weight from one leg to the other. "So..."

Michaela smiled softly, taking a step forward and hugging him. "So, I care for you very much," she said breathlessly. "And I realize I hurt you by wearing my rings this long, even if you won't admit it. If things are going to work between us, then I can't go on like I have been."

"Oh, gosh. Mike." He hugged her back. "I want things to work so much."

"As do I," she replied with a smile. "Cal...I'm ready to give us a chance. I'm ready."

He lifted her a few inches off the floor, holding her even tighter. "Oh, Michaela. Thank you...thank you."

to be continued...


	22. Chapter 34

Chapter Thirty-four

"Dinner?" Cal repeated, leaning against the kitchen table.

"Yes. Here at the homestead," Michaela clarified. "A late dinner, after the children are in bed. What would you like me to make?" She rubbed Byron's back who was seated at the table and breathing in vapors from a bowl of hot water and stinging nettles. He was angry at his mother for making him stay inside. Katie and Brian were having all the fun outside, getting the puppy acquainted with her new doghouse. The last place Byron wanted to be was bent over smelly smoke that made his eyes tear and didn't help a bit with "tacks", in his opinion.

"Well, make whatever's easiest, Mike," Cal replied. "It's your birthday. Don't want ya slaving away all day."

"It's your birthday, too, remember?" Michaela replied with a wry smile. "How about stew then? I'm good at stew." She glanced at her son. "Byron, deeper breaths."

"Stew sounds great," Cal spoke. "I'll...I'll bring the dessert then."

"You'll bring the dessert?" Michaela questioned, surprised.

"I can handle it," he assured her. "Just give me a chance. What to make..."

"Bir-day cake," Byron suggested, tilting his head up to look at Cal. Michaela gently nudged him back over the vapors.

"Birthday cake," Cal echoed. He tousled Byron's hair. "That's a perfect idea, Squirt. Now if only I knew how."

Michaela smiled, rising from her chair. "I think I have a recipe for chocolate cake you may borrow." She found her recipe box tucked away in a cupboard and handed Cal a small card.

Cal skimmed the recipe. "Whoa, Mike. This takes a lotta stuff. Butter, sugar, eggs, baking soda, flour...what's it mean to 'sift'?"

Michaela bit her lip. "Are you sure you want to bake a cake? Perhaps you should tackle something simpler." She flipped through her recipes. "Let's see..."

He studied the card. "No, I'll get it. 'Sides, what's a birthday without a cake?"

"Done," Byron announced, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms.

Michaela sat down and opened her pocket watch. "No, not yet. Not much longer. Two more minutes, Brynie."

Stubbornly, the little boy ignored her, turning his head away.

Cal put the recipe card on the table and sat down next Byron. "Hey, little guy."

"Cal, tell Mama I don't want this," Byron told him, brow narrowed as he pointed at the steaming bowl. "Tell her I don't gotta."

"Byron, you must cooperate. It'll prevent attacks," Michaela told him, hurt that he had decided not to speak to her, at least for the moment.

"Not gonna," Byron responded bitterly, tears of anger springing to his eyes.

Cal patted his shoulder. "You don't have to do this anymore, Byron, if ya don't want."

"I don't?" he murmured hopefully.

Michaela opened her mouth to protest, but Cal gave her a brief nod, letting her know he had things under control.

"Let's play a game instead," Cal spoke.

"Yeah, game!" Byron squealed. "What game?"

Cal thought a moment. "Uh...the...the grizzly bear game."

Byron beamed. That sounded fun enough. "'Kay, what we do?"

Cal scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Well, we...we pretend we're grizzlies, see. And first things first, we gotta fight to see who's bigger and stronger."

"Yeah!" Byron consented. He clawed the air with his fingers. "Grr!"

Cal chuckled, lifting him onto his lap. "Now to see who's stronger, we'll see who can take the biggest, strongest breath, all right? On the count of three. One...two...three."

Cal and Byron each inhaled loudly and deeply, taking in some of the stinging nettle vapors.

"I think I beat ya!" Cal said, tickling an already giggling Byron.

"Nuh-uh," the little boy retorted.

Cal shrugged. "Well, we'll just have to do it again. One, two, three. Deep breath, Byron. Good boy...Now, again."

"Am I doin' good, Cal?" Byron asked, momentarily pausing to glance at him.

"You're the best darn grizzly I ever did have sit in my lap," Cal told him, hugging him. "Now show me again. Show me how strong you are."

Byron inhaled once more, filling his lungs with the vapors. "Mama, look. Look, I am stwong."

Michaela smiled through tears, caressing his hair. "Yes, darling. You're doing wonderful." She glanced at her pocket watch. "All right, that's enough for now."

"Aw," Byron sighed. He turned in Cal's lap, grasping his arms. "When we gonna play Grizzly 'gain, Cal? Soon?"

Cal gave him a hug, a lump in his throat. "Sure."

"Three times a week," Michaela spoke softly, emptying the bowl out the back door.

"Can I play outside now?" Byron asked, sliding down from Cal's lap.

"You may," Michaela reluctantly agreed. "But take-"

"Take easy an' no wunning," Byron finished, putting on his coat and heading out the door.

Michaela went to the window and watched him go, her heart heavy. "I don't know how much longer I can do this to him, Cal," she murmured. "All these treatments. They make him miserable."

Cal took a deep breath. "Well, he ain't had very many attacks, has he?"

"He's had four since our visit to Denver," Michaela told him solemnly.

"Four?" Cal echoed in disbelief. It seemed like so many. That had to be more than one each week.

"He had one this morning," she explained. "...It was mild."

"Michaela..." He cleared his throat. "I guess ya wouldn't want to leave him then, for a few days. If ya had to go somewhere, say."

She turned slowly. "I've thought about that," she admitted. "As much as I want to be, I can't stand by his side every waking moment. I'm going to teach him what to do, in the event he's ever alone during an attack. I could give him a little bottle of chloroform and a cloth to carry with him at all times."

"That's a good idea." He stood up, giving her a hug. "I guess we're lucky it ain't something worse."

Michaela nodded, swallowing hard. Sully would have said something like that to comfort her.

"It's all right to be upset, Mike," he told her softly. "Ya don't have to pretend for me."

She closed her eyes, feeling a tear slip down her cheek. "I just want things to be normal for him," she murmured. "Every time I sit him down to try a medicine, I hurt him. I make him feel weak, ill, different from the older children..."

"It's not your fault, Michaela," he replied.

"I encounter these types of illnesses every day. Ingrid, Matthew's fiancée, she had asthma. I don't understand why this is upsetting me so. Why should this be any different?"

"It's different cause it's your child, Mike," Cal told her.

"Cal, I love him so much," she choked. "I know sometimes I may baby him, but I can't help it. He means so much more to me than I ever thought possible…He's the last thing I have left of Sully."

Cal stroked her hair sympathetically. "I know, and that's all right. I love him, too, like he was my own."

"You do?" she asked softly.

"Sure, I do." He kissed her head. "This'll pass. He'll get used to the medicine. He'll start feeling better. He's a strong little guy and no little thing like this is gonna slow him down, I promise ya." He tilted her chin up to look at him. "Sully's looking down," he whispered, "loving his little boy," he assured her. "My ma says everyone's got a guardian angel up in heaven. Well, Byron's lucky. He's got his pa to look out for him."

"Oh, Cal," she whispered. She stood on tiptoe, intending to give him a soft peck on the cheek. The soft peck turned into several deep kisses. Gradually, Cal backed up to the table, leaning against it and pulling Michaela to him. He ran his fingers down her throat and kissed her neck, and she wrapped her arms around him, unable to pull away.

At last Cal let out a long breath, cupping her cheeks in his hands. "I love you, Michaela."

Michaela tried to reply, but couldn't form the words. She gave him a brief nod, avoiding his eyes. "I should...I should check on the children."

Her reaction hurt, though he tried not to show it. "All right," he sighed.

She turned to leave, then paused, blushing. "Cal...I want you to know that was...that felt..."

He smiled, coming to her side and taking her hand. "Let's check on the kids."

&&&

"How romantic!" Dorothy exclaimed, following her friend about the store, Katie and Byron tagging along behind them.

"Dorothy, it's just a dinner," Michaela protested. "No, no, Katie." She took a vase the child had pulled from a shelf and put it back in its place.

"Dinner?" Grace spoke up, where she had been paying Loren at the counter. She joined the two. "That's sounds special, Dr. Mike."

Dorothy selected a few tall candles from a crate and placed them in Michaela's basket. "A candle-lit dinner."

"It's just a little birthday party," Michaela insisted, removing the candles and putting them back.

"Oh, but they'd look so pretty on your table," Grace insisted, putting the candles in the basket.

"No really, Grace. I don't think so," Michaela contended, removing them once more.

"Do you know what?" Byron spoke up, pushing his way between the ladies and holding his mother's skirts. "Mama and Cal gots same 'sact bir-day."

Dorothy chuckled, patting his head. "Well, isn't that a coincidence!"

"And know what else?" Katie added. "Mama and Cal is courting."

"That means hold hands lots," contributed Byron matter-of-factly.

"And courting is there is lots of hugs and kisses, all the time!" Katie giggled, covering her mouth with her hand.

Michaela reddened. "All right, children. Why don't you each choose a piece of candy for the ride home?"

"Candy! Yea!" squealed Byron, taking Katie's hand and hurrying to the candy jars.

"Don't go breaking anything, you two," Loren grumbled from the counter, feather duster in hand. He put his hands on his hips.

"You can help us choose, Mr. Bray," Katie suggested cheerfully while Byron stood staring up at the jars, mouth agape.

Loren let loose an exaggerated sigh, approaching the little boy and girl. "I s'pose I could," he reluctantly agreed, though it was clear he had always had a soft spot for Katie and Byron.

"I apologize," Michaela told her friends, embarrassed. "The children...they exaggerate."

Grace and Dorothy raised their eyebrows skeptically.

Michaela cleared her throat. "Dorothy, Grace, please. Cal and I, we don't. Well...not all the time." She averted her eyes.

Dorothy put her arm around her, grinning. "Oh, Michaela. That's all right. After all, you're in love."

"In love..." Michaela murmured. Her eyes grew troubled.

"What is it?" Dorothy asked. "...Has he told you he loves you?" She glanced at Grace.

Michaela nodded slowly. "He's told me. More than once actually."

Grace clasped her hands, pleased. "And...?" she prompted.

"I just haven't been able to tell him," she admitted with a sigh. "It's such a big step. It means so much."

Dorothy squeezed her shoulder. "Well, when the moment's right, it'll come, Michaela, don't you worry."

Grace placed the candles back in Michaela's basket. "And in the meantime, take these."

&&&

Grace headed back to the cafe, a basket of vegetables and other items from the store tucked under her arm. She was so happy for Dr. Mike and Cal. They couldn't be more suited to each other. She chuckled as she thought back to earlier that morning. Cal had been loitering around her kitchen, making small talk, for at least half an hour. Finally she had asked him what it was he wanted, if anything.

"I need your stove," he'd stammered. "That is, I was wondering if I could use it for a birthday cake."

Grace had patiently explained, a smile tugging at her lips, that a stove would get him nowhere if a cake was what he desired. He would need an oven, and yes, he was welcome to use the café's.

As Grace approached the café, she noticed several townsfolk gathering around her outdoor kitchen, chuckling and raising their eyebrows at...something. Suddenly, Grace thought of Cal. She'd left him alone to bake his cake while she ran the errands. "Oh, Lord," she murmured, quickening her pace.

"Is it s'posed to be that...that flat?" Jake spoke, hands on his hips.

Cal was frowning over his attempt at a cake. He lifted up the pan with potholders, staring at his sad creation. "I don't think so," he said uncertainly. He picked up the recipe card and skimmed it. "Maybe I forgot something."

"That sure don't look like a chocolate cake, Cal," Horace remarked.

"That, my good man," spoke Preston decidedly, "is a pancake."

The townsfolk chuckled, cracking jokes at the disaster of a cake, and at the mess Cal had made of Grace's kitchen area.

"What happened?" Grace moaned, pressing one hand to her heart as she put her basket down and joined the group.

Cal grinned sheepishly. "Grace, um, I guess something went wrong."

"Ya can say that again," drawled Hank, cigar in hand.

Cal looked about the kitchen, embarrassed. Hastily, he pushed a few crushed eggshells into a pile and picked up a dishcloth. "I'll clean it all up, Grace, don't you worry. I'm sorry about this."

Grace eyed him skeptically, but then suddenly her expression softened. "Go on, get outta my kitchen." She glanced at the other townsfolk. "You, too."

Grumbling, the men ushered themselves back to the main dining area of the cafe.

"But...our cake," Cal protested. "I promised Mike I'd take care of it."

"Ya won't even be able to get candles into this thing," she told him, shaking her head. She patted his back, chuckling. "I'll take care of the cake, Cal. Come back in a few hours t' pick it up."

His mouth dropped open. "Ya will? I mean, Grace, that's real nice of ya. I appreciate it."

"I ain't gonna let my friends have a birthday without a cake," she said, pretending to be stern.

"Thanks. Thanks, Grace." Cal took a step forward and gave her a big hug, and she laughed with surprise.

"Go on," she ordered. "Git!"

"Oh, yes, ma'am," Cal said, backing up. "I'm sorry about the mess. I guess I got in a little over my head."

"Well, then sit down for a spell, catch your breath, and I'll bring ya some coffee," Grace told him, tying on her apron and taking the dishcloth from him.

Cal took a seat near the group of men, letting out a tired sigh.

"Cigar?" offered Hank standing beside him.

Cal hesitated at first, but consented. After all, it'd been a long day.

Jake stood beside Hank, and Horace and Preston took a seat at the table. "What'd ya say that cake's for?" Jake asked.

"Mike's birthday," Cal replied simply, lighting the cigar off Hank's. "Mine, too, I guess."

"Courtin' not even a few months and she's got ya cookin' just like a woman," Jake said.

"That ain't how it is," Cal contended. "I offered."

"Next she'll have ya cleanin', and doin' the washin'," Hank warned him.

"And lookin' after the baby," Horace added knowingly.

"And tending to the entire household while she resides at the clinic," Preston contributed. "Gentlemen, this sounds oddly familiar. Why, when Sully-"

Jake elbowed him. "Ain't right to talk about folks that can't be here."

Preston gave him a sour glare, but quieted.

Hank smiled slyly. "Do I hear weddin' bells, boys?"

Cal coughed, removing the cigar from his mouth. "Wedding bells? We're just...we're just courting..."

"Yep, he's got it," Hank said. "He's got it bad."

"Got what?" murmured Cal uncertainly.

"The sickness," murmured Jake mysteriously, his eyes widening.

"What? You're not saying he intends to marry Michaela, are you?" questioned Preston disbelievingly. "Him?"

Cal lowered his head shyly. "Well, I...we...see-"

Preston nodded thoughtfully. "Then again, Michaela always has been attracted to men like you. Present her with a man of my breeding and prestige, and she cringes in horror. Peculiar."

"What do you mean men like me?" Cal said, a bit hurt, but recalling what Michaela had said about not letting Preston get to her.

"Dr. Mike and Cal," Horace spoke thoughtfully.

"It's got a ring to it," Jake teased.

"Leave him be," called Grace from the kitchen, where she had finished cleaning up the mess and was preparing to begin the cake anew. "All of ya."

Reluctantly, the men disbanded, finishing their coffee and returning to their workplaces; all but Hank, who remained standing, thoughtfully puffing on his cigar.

"They like ya," the bartender said at last, tapping his cigar of ash.

"They like me?" echoed Cal doubtfully.

"Yep. Trust me," Hank said simply. "Am I invited?"

"Invited?" Cal stammered.

Hank held out his hands. "To the weddin'."

Cal chuckled, not knowing how to respond.

Hank gave him a reassuring, firm pat on the back, then went on his way, leaving Cal to ponder the idea.

&&&

"Did you have a good birthday?" Cal asked with a soft smile, taking Michaela's hand across the dining room table.

Michaela squeezed his hand. "Wonderful, did you?"

"Wonderful," he echoed. "Good stew, pretty china, dripping candles."

"Delicious cake," Michaela added.

"I…I have a confession to make," he said. "Grace made that cake. All I did was put the little candles in."

Michaela chuckled. "I suspected."

"She saw the mess I made and told me she'd take over," Cal added. "But at least I tried."

"That's what counts," Michaela assured him. "And I too have a confession to make. The candles weren't my idea."

"Is that so?" Cal replied.

"I was in the store and two little birds thought they might be...romantic. They made me take them."

Cal nodded. "Those two little birds sure seem bent on keeping us together."

"So I've noticed," Michaela said. "But...I don't mind."

"Me neither. Oh, your present. How could I forget? Be right back." He returned from the barn a minute later with a large box wrapped in brown paper with a red bow on top, that took up nearly a third of the table.

"Oh, my goodness," Michaela breathed. "Cal, what on earth...?"

"Open it," he instructed wryly, eyes filled with mischief.

"I couldn't possibly resist," replied Michaela, tearing off the paper. At last she uncovered what was inside, only to discover a smaller box, wrapped in paper with a similar bow.

"Come on, open it, Mike. What's taking ya so long?" Cal teased.

Shaking her head at him, she obeyed, finding another box, smaller than the first two. "Very funny," she said dryly, tearing frustratedly at the bow and paper.

He folded his arms, enjoying himself.

After two more boxes Michaela at last unsheathed a small white envelope, on which Cal had simply written: Mike.

Michaela carefully tore it open, pulling out the last thing she expected. "Round trip tickets to...Chicago," she breathed. She glanced up at him questioningly.

He cleared his throat. "Yeah. Ya said once ya'd like to see it someday, meet my mother and sister. They really wanna meet you, too, Mike. There's um...there's two tickets there, for you and me. I hope that's all right. Do you like 'em? I can always take 'em ba-"

"Cal, they're wonderful." She burst into a excited smile, giving him a hug. "Oh, I would love to meet your family, see Chicago. Thank you."

He sighed, relieved. "Two weeks, darlin'. We leave in two weeks. And then when we get back the construction company will be just getting here to start building for my streetcar business."

Suddenly, she burst into laughter.

He pulled back. "What? You don't like 'em, do ya? I knew it."

She shook her head. "No, it's just..." She walked to the hutch and pulled out a similar sized envelope with a little blue bow attached. "This is for you," she said with a wry smile.

Eyebrows raised, Cal opened it. "Tickets to...Boston."

"To meet my family," Michaela explained hesitantly. "Do you...do you like them?"

He laughed. "Mike, these are...these are great. Thanks. I don't believe this." He stroked his chin. "I know, we could do it in one trip. Go to Chicago and then on to Boston, and then home."

"How long do you think we'd be gone?" she asked slowly.

He took a seat, laying the tickets on the table in front of him. "Well, we could spend four or five days in each city, and then with the time we'd spend on the train, it'd be a few weeks I s'pose." He took her hand. "I'd like to take the kids, but..."

"I understand," Michaela told him. "I could only afford two tickets, too."

"Ya sure you're all right with leaving Byron?" he asked softly.

She nodded stiffly. "Matthew and Dorothy and Grace offered to take turns looking after the children, and Andrew Cook promised he'd be on hand in the event Byron has an attack. We can wire every day, and write, and..."

"And miss 'em all to pieces," Cal finished. He pulled her into his lap. "Mike, wait 'til ya meet my ma. I've told her all about ya. She can't wait to see ya. She's just gonna love you. You'll see."

"My mother's going to love you, too," Michaela said, kissing his cheek. "...I hope," she added softly to herself.

to be continued...


	23. Chapter 35

Chapter Thirty-five

A light snow was falling as Michaela and Cal descended the train in the bustling city of Chicago. Cal had told her at least ten times she had nothing to fret about, that his family would love her, but Michaela couldn't help being nervous. She worried his mother wouldn't approve of her, an unconventional lady doctor who had been married before, and with two very young children to look after. She told herself it was just a meeting, but she knew deep down it meant so much more. It was as if it were a first step on the road to something...possibly something more than just a courtship.

"There they are!" Cal said excitedly, breaking away from Michaela and hurrying down the steps.

Michaela stood back for a minute, watching timidly as Cal gave his mother a big hug, lifting her off her feet. She stood about as tall as Michaela, and had graying brown hair, cheerful dark eyes, a rosy complexion, and a smile like Cal's: friendly but with a hint of mischief. Michaela thought she was very beautiful and much younger-looking than she had anticipated.

"Put me down, insufferable child!" his mother laughed. He obeyed, taking her hands. "Well, Cal, let me look at you," she said, all smiles. "If you aren't the picture of health. My goodness."

"Must be all that mountain air," a younger woman spoke up with a grin. She was nearly Cal's height, with curly dark hair piled atop her head and striking blue eyes. She was dressed very elegantly in a lacy emerald green gown, matching wool cape, muffler, and feather hat.

"Sis," Cal said wryly. He held her as warmly as he had his mother, giving her a wet kiss on her cheek.

"Uncle Cal!" squealed the older of two golden-haired girls standing in front of Caroline. They were bundled in spotless white capes, hoods, mittens, and black leather boots.

"How are the little devils?" Cal chuckled, bending to their level and drawing them into his arms. "Mmm, I missed ya." He gave them each a kiss on the forehead, and they smiled and took his hands.

His mother cleared her throat, glancing around Cal for his companion. "Well, darling? Where is she?"

Cal stood up, walked to Michaela who stood quietly by their luggage. He put his arm around her reassuringly. "Ya look so beautiful today all dressed up, Mike. They'll just love ya."

"You suppose this is fancy enough?" Michaela asked worriedly, touching her hand to her navy blue traveling wardrobe.

"It's perfect. Come on," he bid, leading her to the group. "Mike...I'd like ya to meet my mother. Momma, this is Michaela."

"Oh, Cal, she's breathtaking!" Camille exclaimed, embracing Michaela at once. "Welcome, Michaela. Welcome."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Brooks," Michaela said shyly.

"Oh, now I'll have none of that," the older woman chided. "You're to call me Camille."

"Camille," Michaela repeated.

Cal smiled proudly. "And my sister, Caroline," he said nodding in her direction.

"Do you all have names that begin with a 'C'?" Michaela asked.

"Father and Mother thought it would be amusing I suppose," Caroline chuckled, clasping Michaela's hand. "I'm so glad to finally meet you." She drew the little girls against her. "And these are my children, Annabelle and-" Caroline tapped the younger of the two on the shoulder, focusing her attention away from a pigeon she was watching prance in the snow. "And Rose. Annabelle, this is Dr. Quinn. What do you say?"

The older of the two curtsied elegantly. "How do you do," she spoke politely.

Michaela bent to their level, shaking each of their hands. "Fine, thank you. How do &you& do?"

Annabelle looked up at her mother, perplexed, as if no one had ever asked her such a thing. Awkwardly, she took a step forward.

"Good," she said sweetly.

Michaela smiled. "I have a little girl at home I bet you would get along with."

Annabelle held up seven fingers. "I'm seven."

"And how old are you?" Michaela asked Rose.

The child hung back, clutching her mother's skirts, her blue eyes wide with uncertainty.

"She's five," Caroline said quickly, shooting a glance at Cal.

"Well, in a few months my daughter Katie's going to be five, too," Michaela told her. "When's your birthday?" She waited for a response, and was disconcerted when the child continued to stare blankly, as if she hadn't understood a word.

Cal gently took Michaela's arm. "Mike..." He pulled her away from the group as he gathered their luggage. "No use trying to talk to her," he whispered. "She can't hear a thing."

"She's deaf?" Michaela questioned, wondering how she had missed that.

He nodded, picking up their bags.

"Did Katie come with you, Dr. Quinn?" Annabelle asked, taking her mother's hand.

"No, I'm sorry," Michaela replied, turning back to her. "She's at home with her brothers." She glanced at Rose, who was holding out her hands and watching the snowflakes fall on her mittens, oblivious to the conversation around her.

"Katie," Camille breathed, breaking the awkward silence. "What a splendid name. Well, shall we head home, Cal? I asked Oliver to wait for us just a little way down the block."

"Oliver?" Michaela asked quietly.

Cal coughed. "Yeah um, our driver."

She raised her eyebrows. "You have your own driver?"

He coughed once more. "Well...yeah. That is, Oliver took over after Max's eyes got bad. Oliver, he used to tend the stables, but now we got a few young boys doing that. After all we only need the one horse for the buggy, and then we got the one for riding. Caroline took her horse when she married, and I sold mine just before I left for Wells Fargo. Max helps Cook in the kitchen now, and does a little gardening with Pete from time to time. Momma doesn't have the heart to let him go."

Michaela's eyes widened. Cal was positively wealthy, or at least his family was. Somehow, he'd neglected to mention that.

Cal noticed her expression of surprise. He tenderly took her hand. "This ain't my life, Mike," he whispered. "This ain't me. We're only having a visit."

She gave him a soft smile. "A good visit."

& & &

Fifteen minutes later the coach stopped before a well kempt, three story town house located on the outskirts of the city. A butler approached the coach, helped the women down and then took Cal and Michaela's luggage.

"Please show our guest to her room," Camille instructed a maid once inside. "I hope you'll find it satisfactory, Michaela."

Michaela couldn't help but stare up at the crystal chandelier hanging over their heads. "Oh. I'm sure I will," she stammered.

The maid led Michaela up the carpeted staircase to the guest room, a few doors down the hall from Cal's bedroom. The room was very spacious, with a hardwood floor, bay window, balcony, high double bed, mahogany furniture, and a door to the bath. When the elderly maid proceeded to unpack the luggage, Michaela politely told her she appreciated the help but she could manage.

"As you wish," the maid said. "Supper will commence at half past, Miss."

"Thank you," Michaela replied.

The maid appeared perplexed for a moment, but at last gave her a soft smile. "You're welcome, Miss."

The dinner consisted of steak, vegetables, soup, wine, and cheesecake for dessert. Camille and Caroline were full of questions for Michaela. They wanted to know all about her life in Boston, her practice in Colorado, the children, and coming to know Cal, and were delightfully entertained by the stories of the variety of patients the lady doctor had treated.

Michaela appreciated their interest, but found herself distracted by Cal's youngest niece, Rose. The child sat to the left of her mother, an empty chair on her other side, quietly engrossed in eating her meal. Occasionally the little girl would let out a low moan, once when she had finished her glass of milk and apparently desired more. A servant had entered the room and refilled the glass without comment. Rose was all but ignored by everyone at the table, Caroline included. Michaela smiled at the child several times, attempting to catch her attention, but Rose didn't seem to notice. Michaela wished she could do something for her. She knew of several people who had developed ways to communicate with children like Rose, inventing a language of gestures and signals to represent words, though she wasn't familiar with it herself. She would have liked to consult her medical books on the subject.

"Michaela, you'll have to come with us to the rally this Saturday," Camille spoke up.

Caroline glanced up from her meal. "Oh, yes, please do. You'd enjoy it."

"I get to go, too," Annabelle added excitedly, fork in hand. "Grandmother says I can."

"Mother is president of the Chicago chapter of the National Women's Suffrage Association," Caroline explained. "She's just wonderful. She's been organizing this rally for months. Women are coming from all over the country, from East to West. We're going to fill Hyde Park."

"Now, Caroline, don't exaggerate," Camille said modestly. "But do say you'll join us, Michaela. We're going to be discussing our right to an education. You would fit right in, dear."

Michaela glanced at Cal. "Will you be coming?"

Camille and Caroline burst into laughter.

"Oh, no, no, no," Cal chuckled, shaking his head as he swallowed a bite of steak.

"Cal at one of our rallies?" chortled Camille. "Good heavens, that would be the day!"

"He's intimidated by all of us &ladies&," Caroline explained with a wry grin. "He's afraid he'll be the only man there, surrounded!"

Cal shot his sister a teasingly evil glance. "I'd just rather be doing something else, but I wish ya all the best of luck. You go along with Momma and Sis, Mike, and have a good time."

"Then is that a yes, Michaela?" Caroline prompted.

Michaela looked at the two women, smiling. "All right. Yes!"

& & &

Cal whistled a tune as he shoveled snow from the front walk. His mother had protested, but he had insisted there was no reason he couldn't do it, and that the servants should be given leave early. After all they had no doubt been working all day preparing the house for his and Michaela's arrival. They deserved a rest.

"Hello, there!" a young lady called from across the lamp-lit street.

Cal paused, glancing up. "Hello," he called back.

The woman was tall and well-dressed, her head of auburn ringlets tucked beneath a fur hat, her hands folded beneath her cape. She tiptoed on her high-heeled boots across the quiet street, approaching Cal.

"You must be Mrs. Brooks's son. Calvin, is it?"

He cleared his throat. He had to admit the young woman was striking. "Yeah. Well, it's Cal."

"I'm Alyssa," she told him, a smile spreading across her rosy-cheeked face. "Just moved here a few years ago. Pleased to meet you." She held up her hand as if anticipating a kiss to the back.

Cal stared at the gloved-hand for a moment, then caught on and gave it a soft peck. "Likewise," he said politely.

Alyssa rubbed her arms. "My goodness, it's chilly out tonight."

Cal scraped at a patch of ice with the end of his shovel. "Sure is."

"What with Papa gone," she went on, "our walk is never properly cleared. Of course Harrington tries, but he's getting on in years, and more than once I've nearly lost my footing!" She gazed at his work, an exaggerated expression of longing on her face. "I wish someone strong like you would come over and do a suitable job."

Cal glanced at her house. "I'd be happy to come over when I'm done here."

Alyssa grasped his arm. "Would you, Calvin? Oh, aren't you a dear! We'd be eternally grateful."

He shrugged. "Won't take me but a few minutes."

She threaded her arm with his. "Mother and I were saying just the other day, there aren't any decent men left in this city. And then here you come along, offering to shovel our walk. Well, you've certainly proved us wrong, haven't you!"

"Oh. Well, I-"

Suddenly the front door burst open, revealing Michaela, bundled in her coat. "Camille sent me with a scarf, Cal. We're worried about you in this...cold..." She glanced between Alyssa and Cal, eyebrows raised.

"Oh. Mike," Cal croaked. He removed his arm from Alyssa's grip and ascended the step. "Thanks," he said, putting the scarf around his neck. He glanced back. "Um, this is Alyssa, our neighbor."

"Hello," Michaela said politely. The woman couldn't be more than twenty-two or three, and was very attractive, with enticing green eyes and pale, delicate features. Michaela felt older and even a little plain in her simple traveling dress, at least compared to Alyssa. She glanced at Cal, wondering if he was noticing this young lady, but he was smiling only at herself.

"And who might you be?" Alyssa asked, the tone in her voice bordering on sarcasm.

"This is Michaela," Cal said proudly, taking her hand. "Met her back in Colorado where I live now."

Michaela felt a little better. "When you're finished, Cal, come inside to the parlor. Caroline's playing the piano."

He nodded. "I'll be just a little longer. Gonna shovel Miss Alyssa's walk, too."

Michaela pulled back her hand. "Oh? All right. Hurry back in."

"I'll make sure he does," Alyssa offered, gazing at Cal.

Michaela bit her lip, and then returned inside, wondering why she felt threatened by Alyssa. Determined to forget the incident, she hung up her coat and entered the parlor.

Caroline was playing a slow Chopin waltz on the ivory-key grand piano as Annabelle and Rose sat on the floor with their paper dolls. The girls played independently of each other; Annabelle selected a man and a woman and put on her own little show, while Rose preferred to dress and undress a handful of the figures.

"Now tell me more about your children, Michaela," Camille bid, placing her needlepoint in her lap as Michaela took a seat in the velvet chair beside her. "Katie and Byron, you said, and...?"

"Brian, Colleen, and Matthew," Michaela replied.

"And these are the three children you adopted?" Camille questioned. "You'll have to forgive me. I can't keep it all straight."

"Yes. Well, they aren't exactly children any more," she chuckled.

"Oh?" Camille said, her voice suddenly hoarse.

"Brian is fifteen, his older sister is almost nineteen--she's in college in Denver--and Matthew is twenty-one."

"My goodness," Camille couldn't help but utter. "That's quite a handful. And with the two little darlings."

Michaela shifted in her chair uncomfortably. "We manage." She looked up at Cal's sister as the piece ended. "That's lovely, Caroline."

"I'm not able to practice as much as I might like, but thank you, Michaela," Caroline said with a smile.

"Play again, Momma," Annabelle urged. She had been dancing her paper dolls in time with the music.

Michaela looked with pity at Rose, unable to hear any of her mother's beautiful music. An idea suddenly struck her. "Caroline, do you know any Beethoven?"

"Some. Is he a particular favorite of yours?" she asked.

Michaela stood up, approaching the girls. "Do you know the Fifth Symphony?"

Caroline gazed at her quizzically. "Why, yes, but that's hardly appropriate after-dinner music."

"We'll be plagued with indigestion," Camille teased. She heard her son stomping his boots dry in the breezeway and stood up. "That's Cal. He must be a snowman by now. I'll make the poor dear some tea." She entered the kitchen through the swinging doors and put the kettle on the stove, then went directly to her son, helping him off with his winter apparel as if he were a child.

"Momma, I'm fine," Cal chuckled, placing his damp scarf and gloves over the back of a chair. "Sit down."

"It's bitter cold out there," she informed him. "You've forgotten what it's like with the snow coming off the lake six months out of the year."

"I ain't forgotten," he said, winking. "In Colorado the snow comes off the mountains. Gets just as bad."

"Well, at least you're staying in one place for a change," she replied, pouring him a cup of the warm tea. "...Colorado is where you think you'd like to live?"

He sat down as she gave him the cup and saucer. "I already do, remember? All 'cause of Michaela." He smiled to himself, then glanced up at his mother as she took a seat next to him. "Ain't she beautiful, Momma?" he said proudly, nodding towards the door to the parlor.

"She's very charming," Camille admitted.

Cal knew his mother. Something was wrong. "I love her. I've loved her for three years now." He took a deep breath. "I'm gonna propose."

Camille's breath caught. "Marriage?"

He nodded. "I want to spend my life with her."

She took his hand. "Oh, Cal, I realize you love this woman, and I want you to be happy, I just want you to think things through carefully first."

"Like what things?" he questioned.

Camille thought a moment, choosing her words carefully. "I know how much a family means to you. I know someday you'd like children of your own." She stroked back his hair. "Don't lie to your mother."

He swallowed hard. "You're right. I do want kids."

"If you marry Michaela you're not only marrying her but her several children as well," Camille told him.

"But I love them," he insisted.

"I'm sure you do, darling," she assured him. "It's just...with five children does Michaela feel the same way as you? Would she like another baby?"

He sat back in his chair. "Well, I...I guess we haven't talked about that too much. I don't see why she wouldn't."

"Cal, she has a great deal of responsibility, especially with her husband gone," she explained. "Have you considered the possibility that she may not be looking to marry, not to mention having more children? With two fully grown and Brian nearly so, and then of course the little ones, it may simply be too much for her. Sometimes it's difficult to start all over again. I'm afraid you may have been getting the wrong idea."

Cal sat quietly, digesting her words. "We love each other," he murmured at last. "Everything else is gonna fall into place."

She patted his hand, looking into his eyes. "Then Michaela's told you she loves you. There's a start."

"Well...Not exactly. She just needs time."

"Oh, dear," Camille sighed. "Cal, I sincerely hope things work out, but how can you be sure this woman shares the same feelings you do? Perhaps she may enjoy your companionship, but is she ready to commit to another marriage? Is she willing to begin again? When your father died, God rest his soul, I had no wish to remarry. I had no wish to start over. Cal, I know what she may be feeling."

"That's not the same, Momma. That's not how she feels." Cal abruptly stood up, not wanting to face what his mother had brought up. "What's that Caroline's playing? Sounds like ya have a whole orchestra in there."

"Your Michaela wanted to hear Beethoven," Camille chuckled, following him. "She insisted on it."

Cal opening the swinging door, stopping short at what he saw.

Michaela was on her knees, level with Rose, pressing the child's hands to the side of the piano as Caroline played. Rose smiled, giggled, and moaned with delight. Caroline kept a hesitant eye on the two, but continued to play, though perhaps with not as much passion as before.

"Uncle Cal, Grandmother!" Annabelle burst out, skipping to them and grasping their hands. "Rose can hear!"

Michaela glanced back at the two. "She feels the vibrations," she explained.

Hesitantly, Cal approached the piano, putting his hand on it.

"Look, Rose, do you see all of those hammers hitting the strings?" Michaela said, pointing inside the piano. "That's making the sound." She pointed at Caroline. "And look, Momma's playing this beautiful piece you feel."

Rose beamed at her mother, a smile Caroline hadn't seen in ages. Caroline's playing slowed to a stop, and she rose and picked up the child, hugging her tight.

"...She could learn to speak, Caroline," Michaela told her. "It's been accomplished with great success."

"You forget the child is a deaf-mute, Michaela," Camille spoke up softly. "How could she possibly be taught to speak?"

"She's certainly able to produce sound. If she were to receive special instruction...She's very inquisitive about everything," Michaela insisted. "There's so much she wants to know."

Caroline gave her daughter a loving kiss on the head. "Michaela, I've accepted this and...I'd rather not hope for a miracle. We'd only be disappointed."

"She needs to go to school, Caroline," Michaela went on. "Just because Rose can't hear doesn't mean she can't learn."

"Michaela," Cal warned.

"I'm afraid that's not possible, my dear," Camille explained. "Children like my granddaughter can't go to school."

"But-" Michaela said.

Caroline took Annabelle's hand and made for the stairs. "Goodnight, everyone. I'll see you at breakfast."

Michaela gave Rose a wave. "Goodnight."

Rose smiled and waved back, then hugged her mother's neck, sighing happily.

Cal put his arm around Michaela, relieved the uncomfortable situation seemed to have passed. "Come upstairs, Mike. I want to show you some of my things."

"...All right," she agreed. "Goodnight, Camille."

"Goodnight, Michaela," Camille sighed, sinking into a chair.

& & &

"That's me, standing in front of the school," Cal said, pointing at a photograph of himself as a child. He and Michaela sat on the edge of his bed, looking through a box full of photographs and postcards.

"Oh, you were so small, Cal," Michaela remarked, grinning at the dark-haired little boy with impish, squinting eyes. "You look so sweet."

He smiled and handed her a few more photos. "That's Caroline holding me when I was a baby. My aunt and uncle. Me when I was a little older."

Michaela selected a photograph from the pile, a group portrait of parents and two school-aged children. "This must be your family. Is this your father?" She nodded at a tall man with sideburns and spectacles.

He took it from her, putting it back in the box.

"Let me see," she bid. "I didn't get a good look at him. Do you look like him? I think you favor your mother."

He gave her a handful of picture postcards. "Ya didn't see these yet, did ya? These are the places I've been."

"New York City, Philadelphia...oh, Richmond," Michaela spoke, holding up a picture to the lamp light.

"My mother had a cousin there," he said quietly. "Went to visit every so often."

"That must have been difficult during the war," Michaela surmised, "with family members living in both the North and South."

"I don't know," he said quickly. "I was young."

"So was I," Michaela replied, "but I was very passionate about it. I wanted to be a boy so I could enlist."

"Oh, did you?" Cal said. "Well, a lot of those boys died, Mike."

Michaela sombered. "...I know that."

He sifted through his pictures, not speaking.

At last Michaela cleared her throat, sitting up straighter. "Cal, has your niece always been deaf?"

He sighed. "Yeah, since she was a baby. Came down with the scarlet fever. Why do you ask?"

"No reason," she murmured. "I was just curious."

"We try not to talk about it," he said, his voice curt. "It just hurts Caroline, giving her false hope like that. Ya shouldn't have done that, Mike."

She lowered her eyes. "I'm sorry. I just...it doesn't seem right. Rose seems so lonely."

"Well, she gets along better than ya think. Caroline's a good ma to her. Takes good care of her. Don't hurt her, Mike. Please."

"Where's Caroline's husband, Cal?"

He avoided her eyes, embarrassed. "Who knows. He left her."

"Why?" she persisted.

"'Cause she told him to," Cal said quickly. "Momma insisted she and the girls stay with her for a time."

Michaela placed her hand on his shoulder. "Why didn't you tell me all of this before?"

"'Cause maybe ya...might not have come," he admitted quietly.

"Of course I would have," she insisted. "What do you mean?"

"You're awful full of questions tonight, Mike. Well, everything's good with your room?" he asked, changing the subject. "Comfortable and all?"

She gazed at him worriedly. "Yes, it's fine."

"See ya in the morning, then," he spoke, standing up.

She nodded. "All right." She turned to leave.

Cal swallowed hard, taking her hand. He couldn't let her go like this. Pulling her into his arms, he gave her cheek a loving kiss. "You have a good sleep."

She sighed, relieved the tension had lessened. "I'm truly glad I'm here, Cal."

"Oh, me too," He rocked her gently. "I'll take ya for a drive through the city tomorrow, show ya the sights. How's that sound?"

She smiled, pulling back. "I can't wait. Goodnight, Cal."

He watched her go, taking a slow breath. "'Night, Michaela."

to be continued...


	24. Chapter 36

Chapter Thirty-six

Michaela pinned the last coil of hair in place, then backed up and studied her image in the mirror. She thought back to the day before, and suddenly felt foolish for allowing Cal's neighbor Alyssa to trouble her. She had more faith in Cal than that. Besides, they'd probably not bump into the young woman again. Michaela told herself she had nothing to worry about.

Shrill screaming from down the hall startled Michaela. She pinned her hat on her head, and then hurried to the source of the noise. The screams were coming from Annabelle and Rose's room. Rose, half-dressed for the day and sitting on the floor with her mother, was bawling like a toddler having a tantrum.

"Arms up," Caroline shouted over the racket, pulling the child's pinafore over her head. "Michaela, oh. Good morning."

"What's the matter with her?" Michaela questioned, taken aback.

Rose looked at Michaela, calming momentarily as she recalled the woman from last night, but then her screams picked up again.

"Hm? Oh, this happens every few days," Caroline explained, pulling on the child's white stockings. "It's nothing out of the ordinary. She just wants something, that's all."

"What does she want?" Michaela questioned, amazed Caroline could be so calm about the spectacle her daughter was making.

"I have no idea," Caroline admitted softly.

"She must be so frustrated, unable to communicate her needs," Michaela remarked slowly. She kneeled down at their level, just in time for Rose to give a coarse scream, piercing both women's ears.

"Hush!" Caroline scolded. She grasped the child's arms and squeezed tight. "Hush, Rose. Now!" She put her index finger to her lips and raised her hand as if about to strike the child. Rose immediately quieted, her cries dying down to soft hiccups.

Michaela was amazed. "Caroline? What just happened?"

Caroline took the child's foot in her lap and began lacing her boot. "Yes? Oh, she knows when she sees my hand if she doesn't do what I ask, her bottom will be sore."

"Then she does know what you mean," Michaela said excitedly. "She understands. Caroline, do you know when she's sick, or hungry, or cold?"

Caroline paused. "Well if she's sick...she'll hold her throat or her head or whatever's hurting. She rubs her stomach when she's hungry, and when she's cold, she hugs herself. I know what she needs most of the time. It's the little things she wants that I can't understand."

"Don't you see, Caroline?" Michaela told her. "She's able to communicate the basics, you just haven't realized. Nothing appears to be wrong with her mentally. There are several schools across the country that are specifically for deaf children. I could make inquiries. They could teach Rose hand gestures for every word there is, and she could speak just like you and I do, only with her hands."

Caroline was quiet a moment as she tied her daughter's boots. "But even if she could speak with her hands, no one else would be able to understand."

"You could learn them, too," Michaela insisted. "Then at least you could understand her. Rose could speak through you. That has to be better than not being able to speak at all. And in time, she could even learn to speak with her voice." She gently caressed the child's arm. "She's trapped inside herself, Caroline. Can't you see the sadness in her eyes?"

"Every time I look at her, Michaela," Caroline whispered.

"Mike, what are you doing in here?" Cal spoke suddenly, appearing in the doorway. He had heard a portion of their discussion as he walked down the hall, and it had upset him. He had asked Michaela not to bring up Rose in front of Caroline, and here she was the next morning blatantly ignoring his request.

"Stop that scowling, Cal," Caroline scolded. "Honestly, you look just like Father after a day at the bank."

"I'm not a thing like him, Caroline," he said quickly. Michaela was surprised by the severity of his voice.

"Michaela and I were just having a little chat," Caroline went on, standing Rose on her feet. "What's that you have in your hand?" She nodded at a plate of treats Cal was holding.

"Oh, these," he said, suddenly smiling. "Alyssa stopped by to thank me for shoveling her walk. It took me all of three minutes. She's the sweetest young lady."

"Alyssa brought you those?" Michaela asked, her voice hoarse.

"Yep," he told her. "Do you know she moved here all the way from Ontario? That's in Canada. She came here and went to college just like you, Mike. She studied to be a schoolteacher."

"And is she using her education to teach or sitting at home baking sweets for charming men who shovel her walk?" Michaela asked impatiently.

"Well, I...I s'pose I didn't ask," Cal replied, missing the sarcasm in her voice. "Cookie?" He held out the plate.

"No, thank you," Michaela told him.

"Oh, I know," he said teasingly. "Alyssa says she doesn't touch cookies either. She's afraid she'll get fat, but she's thin as a rail, don't you think, Mike?"

"One cookie isn't going to make Alyssa fat, for heaven's sake," Caroline remarked, shaking her head. She could plainly see Michaela was uncomfortable with Cal's encounter with their neighbor, and wished her brother would open his eyes and take notice. Typical male, she thought to herself. "Cal, didn't you mention you're going to take Michaela on a drive through the city?" She nudged Michaela forward.

"Oh, right," he stammered. "Are ya ready, Mike?"

"I'm ready," she told him, awkwardly stepping next to him.

Caroline took the plate from Cal. "Take Michaela's arm, dear brother, and I'll put these in the kitchen."

Smiling timidly, Cal threaded his arm with Michaela's. "Oh, I asked Alyssa if she'd like to come along with us, too. Her ma and sister went shopping downtown and she seemed kinda lonely."

Michaela clenched her teeth. "You what?"

"You what?" Caroline echoed as she gave Rose a cookie.

"But she said she just couldn't, that this should be a drive just for the two of us," Cal replied with a smile, "and I should give all my attention to you."

"Oh, did she now?" Caroline said dryly.

Michaela sighed. She was sincerely beginning to wish she had never heard the name Alyssa. The outing was supposed to be special, just herself and Cal. She couldn't believe he had encouraged someone else to join, and especially Alyssa, no less. "Let's go," she spoke quietly.

"Let's," Cal said.

& & &

Mary and Emiline McHaven stood bundled in their overcoats, among the hundreds of women gathered before the stage in Hyde Park. They held up the sign they had made: 'Votes for Women', and cheered as Camille commenced to give a reading of the Declaration of Sentiments.

"Mama, this is dumb. I wanna go ice-skating," eight-year-old James informed his mother one more.

"I told you," Mary replied sternly, glancing down quickly, "after the rally we'll take the carriage to the lake. For heaven's sake, Jamie, put your mittens back on. You'll catch your death."

"But I wanna go now," he whined, reluctantly tugging his mittens back on his hands. He pulled at Emiline's hand. "Auntie, let's go ice-skating now, all right?"

She patted his head. "After the rally, Jamie. It shouldn't be too much longer."

Defeated, he let loose a sigh, crossing his arms. "I can't see," he grumbled, standing on his toes.

"Oh, &now& he wants to see!" Emiline chuckled.

"Listen to those words, Emiline," Mary said blissfully. "A work of genius."

"Our entire cause outlined," her sister agreed. "It's absolutely marvelous." She held the sign higher. "Oh, I'm so glad we came!"

"I can't see," Jamie insisted again, but his mother and aunt were preoccupied with listening to the speaker. The little boy elbowed his way through several ladies until he reached the outskirts of the crowd where his mother had left the carriage.

"Hey there, sonny," a police officer in a starched uniform said. "Lost your ma?"

"Nope, she's right there," Jamie informed him, pointing into the crowd. He climbed up onto the seat. "I can see real good now," he told the officer.

"If there's anything worth seeing," laughed the policeman as he went on his way. "A bunch of foolishness if you ask me."

"Foolishness," Jamie repeated. He would have to remember that one to tell his mother. He shielded his eyes and focused on Camille.

"'We do not expect our path will be strewn with the flowers of popular applause," Camille read on from the podium, bullhorn pressed to her lips, "but over the thorns of bigotry and prejudice will be our way, and on our banners will beat the dark storm clouds of opposition from those who have entrenched themselves behind the stormy bulwarks of custom and authority, and who have fortified their position by every means, holy and unholy. But we will steadfastly abide the result.' Ladies, I stand before you today ready to fight. I will fight until my dying day for the freedom we all deserve!"

The crowd burst into thunderous applause, chants of "fight, fight" echoing throughout the park.

"How does she do it?" Michaela asked Caroline. They were seated in a row of chairs behind the podium, Annabelle and Rose between them.

"Mother knows just what to say to galvanize a crowd," Caroline told her. "Are you enjoying it, Michaela?"

She nodded enthusiastically. "Oh, yes. I can't believe how many people are here." She looked out at the crowd, her mouth half open. There were literally hundreds of ladies, all in their best clothes, several with a small child on their hip or at their side. Michaela couldn't find sight or sound of one man, except for perhaps the dozen or so policemen strolling about the outskirts of the gathering, tapping their batons to their palms.

As the noise died down, Camille looked back at the row of chairs, motioning for Michaela to come to the podium beside her. Michaela shot her a questioning look, but reluctantly stood up.

"And now, ladies," Camille began, "It's my pleasure to introduce Dr. Michaela Quinn, all the way from Colorado Springs, Colorado."

"Camille," Michaela murmured, grasping the woman's arm with a cool, nervous hand, "I can't."

Camille gazed at her quizzically. "Of course you can, Michaela." She nudged her forward to the podium. "They'll cheer no matter what you say."

"That's just it, I don't know what to say," Michaela whispered.

The crowd was beginning to grow restless, murmuring to each other and wondering when the speaker would begin.

"Louder!" a few women called from the back. "Speak up if you please!" shouted another.

"Here, take the bullhorn," Camille bid, placing it in Michaela's hand, "and I'll start. Friends, Dr. Quinn is a graduate of medical school," she spoke, "and an example to all of us! Tell us a little about that, Dr. Quinn."

Michaela cleared her throat and held the bullhorn to her mouth. "Well, I..." She was startled by her amplified voice, but found the courage to go on. "My-my father was a doctor, and from the time I was very young it had been my dream to work side-by-side with him." Noting the crowd's attentive gaze, Michaela's confidence grew. "But I soon realized that because I am a woman, I would have to work very hard to achieve what I wanted. I was able to attend the Women's Medical College of Pennsylvania. No other school would accept me."

The crowd murmured their sympathy, several shaking their heads or crossing their arms. "And only because we're women," many muttered. "Terrible. Intolerable. Insulting," agreed others.

Michaela nodded in accord. "I have a daughter, Katie, back home. She's four years old. Someday I want to be able to tell her she can be anything she wants to be, provided she has the inclination. No university has the right to close their doors on a person only because she happened to be born a female." She glanced at Camille, who was beaming. Michaela turned back to the crowd. "Ladies, let us keep in mind we are here today not only for ourselves, but for our children, our grandchildren, and our great-grandchildren!"

The crowd broke into a roaring applause; chants of "Dr. Quinn", "for our daughters", "our granddaughters, great-granddaughters" echoed abound.

Michaela stepped down, giving Camille a questioning gaze. "Was I all right?"

Camille took the younger woman's hand excitedly. "You were wonderful! They adore you!" Still glowing, Camille took the bullhorn and grasped the podium. "Thank you so much, Dr. Quinn. Now I ask you all, should this woman be grateful she was admitted to college?"

"Yes!" the women shouted.

"No!" responded Camille.

"No!" the crowd echoed.

"No, absolutely not!" Camille repeated. "We do not owe the men that made Dr. Quinn's dream a reality one ounce of gratitude! Friends, it is not a privilege, but a &right& to receive an education, to pursue college, to earn a medical degree if one so desires, right beside the men!"

The crowd broke into thunderous cheers, banners waving, streamers flying.

"We demand a right to education," Camille went on, "and a right to our property!"

"Yes!" clamored the crowd.

"We demand control of our bodies!" Camille continued, "and the right to divorce!"

"Where's Jamie?" Mary suddenly asked her sister.

The women around them were shouting and cheering and they could barely hear each other.

Emiline rested the sign at her feet and looked around. "He was just here, wasn't he?"

Suddenly, a horse let out a panicked whinny, startled by the deafening noise of the crowd. He reared and bucked, sending the carriage backwards.

"That's our carriage!" Mary cried. "Jamie!"

"Whoa!" Jaime screeched. He stood up to try to grab the reins, but lost his balance and was thrown from the carriage to the ground with a harsh thud.

"What's going on?" Caroline questioned, rising to her feet. Annabelle and Rose stood on their chairs to try to see.

"Someone's horse is scared," Annabelle observed. She squinted her eyes. "Oh...don't worry, a policeman is holding the bridle now."

"Thank goodness," Michaela breathed, standing up.

"Help! Help, somebody!" a shrill voice called from the crowd.

Camille picked up the bullhorn. "Ladies. Ladies! Is there an emergency? Let's not panic."

Distressed crying from a child emerged from a tight mob of police officers and women besides the carriage.

"We need a doctor!" someone shouted.

"He needs to go to the hospital!" added another.

"Someone's hurt," Michaela concluded. She hurriedly grabbed her medical bag and rushed off the stage.

"Michaela!" Caroline called. "Come back! You'll be swallowed by that crowd!" Michaela ignored her, bent on finding the injured person and doing what she could for them.

"Come back here at once, Michaela!" Camille shouted into the bullhorn. She turned to her daughter. "Well, isn't this a fine kettle of fish?"

Caroline grabbed her children's hands and hurried down the stage. "Come on," she told her mother.

"Caroline! Are you mad?" Camille demanded.

"Mother, we can't leave Michaela out there all alone," she insisted. "Come on!"

Camille put a hand to her head. "Oh, good heavens," she gasped. "And everything was going so smoothly!" She lifted her skirts, carefully stepped off the stage and followed behind Caroline, pushing their way to the site of the accident.

"I...I fell," Jamie gasped, face contorted in anguish. "I wanted to see..."

"Jamie," Mary cried, kneeling beside her prostrate son. "Oh, Jamie!"

The little boy let out a pained shriek as Michaela sat beside him. "Everyone, please, take a few steps back!" she instructed the tight circle of women and policemen around the boy. She opened her bag, took out a pair of scissors and, carefully holding the boy's right arm with one hand, cut open his jacket and shirt from the wrist up to his elbow. Then she gently examined the injury. A portion of the bone had broken through the skin and blood oozed from the wound.

"Don't touch it, don't touch it!" the child cried, tears pouring down his cheeks.

"Jamie?" Michaela said. "I'm Dr. Quinn."

"I know," he said through gritted teeth. "I saw you up there."

She smiled. "I want you to be a good boy and lie very still, all right? You'll feel better in a minute, I promise."

"We should rush him to the hospital, Doctor, don't you think?" Emiline asked nervously, taking her nephew's free hand.

"I don't think we should move him just yet," Michaela told her, "or we'd risk further damage. It's a compound fracture. It'll need to be set, stitched, and immobilized. Then he'll be safe for travel."

"Jamie," Mary bemoaned again, taking out her hankie and dabbing at her eyes. "Oh, your father's just going to have a fit when he finds out where we've been today!"

"What's the matter, Michaela?" Caroline asked, emerging from the circle of women, her daughters and her mother right behind her.

"This young man had a little fall," Michaela explained, "but it's nothing that can't be fixed."

"Oh, my heavens," Camille gulped as she took in the scene.

"Someone will need to hold him while I set the bone," Michaela told them.

"I'm going to faint," Mary said shakily, her face pale.

"Perhaps you shouldn't watch," Michaela suggested, glancing at her briefly.

Emiline took her sister's arm and drew her back a few feet. "You just sit right here and turn away. The doctor has everything under control."

"We'll help hold him, Michaela," Caroline offered, seeing everyone else seemed afraid to even speak. "Stay here, children. Annabelle, hold your sister's hand." She pointed at Rose, than firmly at the ground, and the little girl nodded in understanding.

"We'll help?" Camille stammered.

"Yes," Caroline affirmed, taking her mother's hand and kneeling beside the boy. "Tell us what to do, Michaela."

"Just hold him under his arms and try to keep him from moving," the doctor instructed. "Jamie, I want you to close your eyes and think of your most favorite thing."

"Ice-s-skating," he whimpered.

"I like to ice-skate, too. Yes, think of ice-skating." She gripped his injured arm with two hands.

"I don't know about this," Camille murmured fretfully, holding the boy's left arm tight. "I hope you know what you're doing, Michaela."

"No, no, no," Jamie begged. "Please. It'll hurt. No! Please!"

With a coarse crack, the bone snapped back into space, leaving the little boy sobbing and gasping for breath.

"Oh, my goodness!" Camille spoke, dabbing at her brow with the back of her hand.

"Oh, you're all right," Michaela soothed, stroking Jamie's hair as he wept. "Doesn't that feel better now?"

"A little," he admitted, hiccupping.

"Now I'll give you a little laudanum, give your arm a few stitches, and then we'll take you to the hospital," Michaela told him softly.

"Is my son going to be all right, Dr. Quinn?" Mary asked fearfully.

"I think he'll be back to ice-skating again in no time," Michaela assured her as she drew the laudanum into a syringe.

"Do you h-hate boys?" Jamie asked curiously.

Michaela chuckled. "No, Jamie, I most certainly do not."

He scratched his head with his free hand. "Seems like everybody at these things hates boys," he remarked. "I'm glad you don't hate me, Dr. Quinn."

Michaela chuckled once more. "On the contrary. I'm very happy to help you."

Mary kissed his head. "You're such a brave boy, darling. Oh, I'm so glad you're all right."

Caroline pressed her hand to her chest. "Thank goodness Michaela was here!" she exclaimed. She placed her hand on the doctor's shoulder. "That was remarkable, Michaela. I'm absolutely speechless."

"Thanks, Dr. Quinn," Jamie said tiredly, a soft smile on his face.

"Call me Dr. Mike," Michaela told him with a grin. She turned to Camille worriedly. "I'm sorry we interrupted the rally."

"Oh, no, no," Camille countered. "We've never had a more exhilarating gathering, have we ladies?!"

"Never!" they all agreed.

"Caroline is right, Michaela," Camille went on. "You're a marvel! Oh, I can't wait to tell Cal about the adventure we had! And he thinks exciting things happen in Colorado Springs! Just wait until he hears this!"

& & &

"Cal? Oh, Cal!" Camille called as the women hung up their winter apparel.

"In the kitchen," Cal called.

Camille took Michaela's hand. "Come along, dear. We'll fill him in on all the details. He'll be so proud of you!"

The two women entered the kitchen, followed by Caroline and the girls.

"Guess what, Uncle Cal?" Annabelle said, bounding into his lap. "Dr. Quinn is a hero!"

"Alyssa!" breathed Caroline. The young woman was seated next to Cal sipping a cup of tea, dressed in a royal blue gown more suited for a dinner party.

"Caroline," Alyssa said saucily. "How nice to see you again. I was just passing by to say a brief good-afternoon and your darling brother invited me in."

"I was getting lonesome having this house all to myself," Cal explained. He grinned at Michaela, but she avoided his eyes, pretending not to notice.

"Cal, you should have come along to the rally," Camille told him. "A young man fell from a carriage and broke his arm. Michaela bounded off the stage and rushed right to his aid. I believe she saved that poor boy's life."

"Camille-" Michaela protested.

"There was blood &everywhere&," put in Annabelle, putting her arms around her uncle's neck. "And you could see the bone!"

"Heavens!" Alyssa gasped, pressing a fluttering hand to her heart. "I'm sure I would have fainted straight away at such a sight!"

"Oh, Mike's seen a lot worse things than that," Cal said, tousling his niece's curls.

"Mike. What an adorable nickname!" Alyssa spoke.

"Michaela didn't swoon for an instant," Camille went on. "She took charge and had the child nearly as good as new within a few minutes. Caroline and I helped. I daresay it was one of the most hair-raising moments of my life."

"You must be a very talented physician," Alyssa remarked, eyeing Michaela. "I'm sure I could never enter a profession so dominated by men."

"Well, Michaela's as talented as any male physician I've ever encountered," Caroline put in.

"That's nothing," Cal spoke. "Mike's always saving lives back in Colorado Springs."

Michaela found herself hurt by Cal's indifferent manner. He was shrugging off what she had done that day, and she felt unimportant. She bit her lip hard, wondering if Cal might pay more attention to her if she had fainted at Jamie's broken arm, instead of mended it.

"Cal tells me you have five children back home," Alyssa remarked, folding her hands on the table. "And managing your little hospital in town," she added. "I don't think I could balance so many things. I'd want to be home taking care of my husband."

"I don't have a husband," Michaela said abruptly.

"Yes, I know. That's terrible what happened," Alyssa told her. "What an awful death, falling like that onto those rocks. Just terrible."

"You told her about that?" Michaela asked Cal, her voice unsteady.

Cal hesitated. "I didn't think you'd mind."

Alyssa nodded. "Don't blame Cal. It was I who brought it up. I was only curious." She smirked insolently. "I must seem so naive, Mike. You've been married before, and you have your career, and all those children, some of whom are grown! And here I am just starting out."

Michaela looked the young woman in the eye pointedly. "I don't think you're naive at all, Alyssa." She glanced at the people around her, stepping back. "Excuse me." With that she hurried out the door and upstairs to the guest room.

"What's gotten into her?" Cal asked slowly.

"Oh, dear. Cal, why don't you show Miss Alyssa to the door," Camille urged, gripping his arm.

"Cal, you should go up and see what's troubling her," Alyssa insisted, patting his arm. "Poor dear."

"No, I'll go up," Camille said. "&Good day&, Miss Alyssa."

"Good day, Mrs. Brooks," Alyssa responded. "I do so hope 'Mike' is all right."

"I'm sure you do," Caroline muttered under her breath.

to be continued...


	25. Chapter 38

Part Thirty-eight

"Eight days, Kate. Eight," Brian assured her, sitting beside his brothers and sister on the porch, baseball in hand.

With a disgruntled sigh, Katie held out eight fingers and counted them. "Eight days! That's &forever&." She pulled the puppy into her lap and kissed her head.

"I want Mama," Byron put in, hugging his sister's arm with a frown.

Matthew tickled the little boy's chin. "Oh, it's all right, Byron. Dr. Mike'll be home real soon. She and Cal are probably on the train right now for Grandma's. Just think of all they saw in Chicago: lots of people, and tall buildings, and plenty of new buildings goin' up I bet."

"Yeah, after that big fire and all," Brian added.

"Yep," Matthew said, "and a lake that's &so& huge I heard ya can't even see the shore on the other side."

"Really?" Katie asked curiously.

"But where's Sha-go?" Byron questioned as the puppy licked his cheek.

"'Member we found it on the map, B., before Ma left?" Brian prompted. "You remember."

He put his thumb in his mouth and shook his head tearfully.

"Well, it ain't that far," Matthew reassured him. "Just a little North of here."

"Yeah. Only seven-thousand-hundred miles," Katie said, nodding her head.

Brian smiled at Matthew. "I know, tonight we can make a paper chain with eight rings, like we do before Christmas, remember Kate?"

She beamed. "Yeah, and we can tear one ring off every sleep!"

"Right, and when there's no more left, that means Ma'll be home," Brian told them.

"That mean Mama be home den?" Byron asked hopefully, removing his thumb. "An' Cal, too, Bian?"

"Yep," Katie told him after Brian didn't reply.

"All right," Byron sighed, reassured. He peered out at the yard. "I wanna swing. Push me."

"I'll push ya, B.," Brian offered.

Katie stood up. "I'll push 'im," she offered. With Michaela and Cal away she had taken it upon herself to look after her younger brother, and both Matthew and Brian had humored her. They couldn't help but be touched by her maternal protectiveness of him, though she was only a year older than the little boy. "Come on, Wof-y," she urged the puppy, claping her hands. "You swing, too."

Matthew shielded his eyes and descended the porch, watching the two children scurrying off to the swing hanging from the oak tree, Wolf barking and trotting after them.

"Here, Matthew, catch," Brian said, tossing him the baseball.

Matthew caught it and threw it back. "Those two have been on that swing all week," he said.

"Must be spring fever comin' early," Brian replied, returning the ball.

"After being cooped up inside all winter can't blame anyone for wantin' to get out and play," Matthew agreed.

"Sully put that swing up, for Kate and me," Brian remarked softly.

"...Ya miss him?" Matthew asked, tossing the ball once more.

"'Course I do," Brian replied quietly. He paused. "Sometimes, if I get to thinkin' about him a lot...it still hurts. Then I think, I got no right to feel that way. Sully was my pa when I needed him the most, but now I ain't a little kid anymore. Katie and Byron, they never had what I did with him. Sully won't ever be able to tell them a story, or teach 'em about the Cheyenne, or be there for 'em when they just need a hug, like he was for me." He let out a sigh, then threw his brother the ball.

"Ya got no reason to think like that," Matthew told him reassuringly, catching the ball and coming to Brian's side. "Way I see it, Katie and Byron are pretty lucky. They got a big brother who can tell 'em all about their pa when they're wondering about him."

"Think maybe I could tell 'em some of the things Sully taught me?" Brian asked. "Maybe about the White Buffalo and things?"

Matthew patted his back. "I bet they'd love that. And I think...Sully'd want ya to."

Brian nodded, realizing his brother was right. "Yeah."

"There's something else you can do for them, little brother," Matthew told him.

Brian looked up. "What's that?"

"Be happy for 'em," Matthew said. "Be happy they got someone like Cal. They're just little kids, Brian. Don't deserve to go through life not knowing what it's like to have a pa, or somebody like one. And they deserve to see their ma smilin'."

Brian swallowed hard. "I...I can't, Matthew."

"You think Sully hopes the people he loves are never happy again?"

"No, but why can't things just stay the way they are?" Brian whispered, folding his arms. "I liked things before Cal came."

"Yeah, me too," Matthew said. "I liked it when Dr. Mike was in bed cryin' all day, when us and half the town had to stay with her to make sure she remembered to feed the baby...feed herself, too...when Katie lost her pa and was losing her ma, too...when things were fallin' apart."

Brian let out a slow breath as he contemplated his brother's words. "I do want everybody to be happy...it's just not as easy as it sounds."

Matthew squeezed his shoulder. "No, it ain't gonna be easy, but promise me you'll try, all right?"

"...All right," Brian agreed.

Matthew tousled his hair. "Why don't ya get the bat? I'll throw ya some pitches."

"Just like when we were kids," Brian said with a grin.

"We'll always be kids, Brian," Matthew replied wryly. "That's one thing that won't change."

& & &

"Courting?" Elizabeth Quinn breathed, eyes darting between Michaela and Cal. She stood flabbergasted on the train podium. Expecting to greet her daughter and grandchildren, she was presented with this. Well, at least he wasn't wearing buckskins.

"Yes, they're courting, and I think it's delightful," Rebecca put in while Marjorie looked on scornfully.

Cal took a shy step forward, giving Elizabeth a small bouquet of carnations he had bought on the train. "It's so good to meet you, Mrs. Quinn."

"Since when have you been courting my daughter, young man?" Elizabeth responded, handing the flowers to a porter helping with the couple's luggage. "And when did all of you plan on telling me about it?"

"Well, we-" Cal began.

"Michaela, this ruins everything," Marjorie bemoaned. "Mother's arranged for a party tomorrow in your honor, with dinner and dancing. All the eligible men in Beacon Hill have been invited."

"I'm sorry, Michaela," Rebecca spoke up. "I tried to stop things but you asked me not to mention Cal."

"I can't cancel it now, I'm afraid," Elizabeth sighed. "We'll just have to carry on."

"Well, that's all right," Cal said in an attempt to smooth things over. "I don't mind."

"It's not all right," Michaela put in, taking his hand. "We'll work something out, Cal, don't worry. Mother, you remember Cal. I've written about him several times. We've known each other since before Byron was born."

"Ah, yes, the stagecoach driver," Elizabeth admitted. "Well, I must say you're not how I pictured you, Mr. Brooks."

"Stagecoach driver?" Marjorie said with disdain.

"Actually, I don't do that anymore," Cal said. "I'm starting up a streetcar business in town."

"Oh, now doesn't that sound lovely?" Rebecca spoke up.

"He has a job. Well, that's a welcome change," Marjorie said sarcastically.

Elizabeth let out another deep sigh. "Well, Mr. Brooks, I suppose any man good enough for my daughter is welcome in my home. Come along."

"Mother, we barely know him!" Marjorie protested, reluctantly following her to their carriage.

"We'll get to know him, won't we, Cal?" Rebecca said cheerfully.

He smiled uncomfortably. "Sure."

"I'm sorry," Michaela apologized softly.

"Your ma didn't know I was coming," Cal replied. "Why didn't ya tell her?"

"I know. I should have. I feared her reaction. It isn't you, truly, she only worries about me. It's just she has a picture of what she thinks men are like in Colorado. She'd feel much better if I were living in Boston. Next door to her, preferably," she finished wryly.

"I ain't anything like Beacon Hill men, I don't think," Cal said quietly.

"And I'm glad. Cal, I know my mother may seem a bit intimidating at first...but once she gets to know you, she'll realize how wonderful you are." She squeezed his hand. "You'll see."

& & &

"Oh, Michaela. Look how much they've all grown!" Rebecca flipped slowly thought a small handful of photographs as she sat on the bed beside her sister's luggage.

"Brian's taller than myself now," Michaela told her, all smiles as she hung her nightgown in the bureau.

"Where does the time go?" her sister breathed.

Michaela returned to the bed, pointing at the next photograph. "This is Byron. We had it taken only last month."

Rebecca chuckled at the beaming little boy. "Oh, he's just darling! And isn't he the image of his father. My goodness."

"He's certainly Sully's son," Michaela agreed quietly.

"What do the children think of Cal?" Rebecca asked. "Do they get on well?"

She folded a pair of her stockings and placed them in the dresser drawer. "Byron and Katie adore him. As for Brian--he doesn't want to trust him. I think he fears I'll be hurt."

"Bless his heart," Rebecca remarked.

"It's understandable. He's lost two fathers."

"Trust takes time to build again," Rebecca replied.

Michaela nodded slowly, strolling back to the bed and taking a seat beside her sister. "Cal's given all of us plenty of time. I owe him for that."

"I'm so glad you brought Cal with you," Rebecca said. "I just can't wait to know him better. And I'm glad you've decided to court again. I remember how desolate things were for you after Sully passed away. But now you look...you look happy."

"Cal makes me happy, Rebecca," Michaela told her softly.

Rebecca smiled and gave her a hug. "And that makes me happy, Michaela."

& & &

"Michaela?" Elizabeth rapped on her daughter's door. "I came to say good night."

Michaela sat in her bathrobe at the vanity, brushing her hair. "Come in," she called.

Elizabeth took a few steps into the room, then paused, gazing around her. "You were a very headstrong four-year-old when your father and I moved you out of the nursery and in here. You were so thrilled to have your own room...In those days I could never picture you grown, and now look at you with a family of your own, so far away from here."

"This room is just how it was when I was a child," Michaela told her with a smile. "It's bringing back many fond memories."

"Is it? Splendid," Elizabeth replied with a smile. "I hope Mr. Brooks is as comfortable in the guest room."

"Why don't you ask Cal yourself?" Michaela suggested, putting her brush down and gazing at her mother's reflection in the mirror.

"Oh, no, I'm sure he's fine," Elizabeth said, waving her hand as she strolled over to Michaela's chair. "Well, he's quite dashing, I'll admit," she began. "I expected a filthy, foul-smelling ranch hand. Though I could do without that beard and his--cowboy hat. This is Boston, not a cattle drive."

Michaela chuckled. "I'd hardly call it a beard. It's only a little shadow. And he's more than handsome, Mother. He's kind, and caring, and so good with the children."

"Hm. Well, I don't trust him," Elizabeth informed her bluntly.

"You don't trust him?" Michaela echoed disbelievingly, turning in her chair to face her. "Mother, you've only just met."

Elizabeth pursed her lips. "I refuse to stand by while you throw your life away once again. Now I'm sure he's very kind, but for heaven's sake, Michaela, a stagecoach driver? I can just imagine the kind of life he leads. It's one thing to befriend that man, but quite another to be courting! What am I to tell the ladies of Beacon Hill? It was bad enough with Sully-"

"&Don't&, Mother," Michaela spoke harshly.

"Michaela, be reasonable," Elizabeth pleaded. "Yes, Colorado Springs was a nice place to live with Sully, God rest his soul, but he's gone now. You no longer have a reason to remain there. Boston is your &home&, Michaela."

"Won't you give Cal a chance?" Michaela responded. "He's not what you think. Not in the least. Please, cancel tomorrow's dinner."

"Out of the question," retorted Elizabeth.

"I can't go."

"You must. I'll be humiliated if you don't." Elizabeth heaved a sigh. "Cal may come along I suppose. We'll have to find him something to wear of course. Oh dear, but I don't imagine he can waltz."

"Cal dances quite well," Michaela said defensively. She grew quieter. "He taught me to dance."

"Nonsense," her mother shot back. "You've been dancing since you could walk."

"I didn't dance after Sully died," Michaela told her. "I didn't want to do anything that would distract me from grieving him. Cal helped me get better. He helped me live again. He's become...become very special to me."

"It certainly isn't &that& serious, is it now, Michaela?" Elizabeth didn't wait for an answer before she went on. "All right, I suppose I can give Cal a chance, if you give &Boston& a chance." With that she bent and gave her daughter a light kiss on the head. "I'm--I'm glad you've come for visit. I'll see you at breakfast."

"Goodnight, Mother," Michaela replied with a sigh.

& & &

Cal approached the breakfast table a little late the following morning. He had taken extra time to comb and smooth his hair and select his nicest shirt and trousers. Just the same he stood out in comparison to both Michaela, who was dressed in a silk violet gown much fancier than what she usually wore, and Elizabeth at the head of the table, who even in her regular clothing looked ready to attend a ball.

Pushing aside his embarrassment, Cal circled the table and gave Michaela a soft peck on the lips. "Morning, darlin'."

Uncomfortable, Michaela smiled half-heartedly. "Good morning."

"&Good morning&, Mr. Brooks." Elizabeth cleared her throat, eyeing the two. "Won't you take a seat?" She gestured at an empty chair across from her daughter.

Cal complied, setting to work filling his plate with eggs, sausages, and biscuits from various platters on the table.

Elizabeth eyed him for a moment, then laid her silverware across her plate. "I trust you slept well?"

"Very well, thank you, ma'am," Cal replied as a servant poured him a cup of coffee. "Thanks," he said to her.

Elizabeth had to admit he had nice manners. "Well, I'm glad to hear that."

"Um, I thought you might like to join me today, Cal," Michaela spoke up. "I wanted to shop for a few gifts for the children. There are several lovely shops along the harbor."

"Sure," he agreed as he dug into his breakfast. "It'd be nice to see some more of Boston."

"Good." She folded her hands in her lap. "And we can…get you a new suit for tonight?"

He swallowed a bite of his sausage. "Tonight? Oh, the party." He took a deep breath. "I, uh...I don't think I can afford a new suit right now, Mike. You know, what with saving for the streetcar business...I'm sorry."

Elizabeth pursed her lips. "He must wear a suit this evening, Michaela," she insisted. "Everyone will be there, Mr. Brooks, all of my daughters and their families included."

"It'll be my present to you then," Michaela offered.

"Oh, Mike, no," Cal responded. "I couldn't."

"Please?" Michaela pleaded. "Please, Cal. I want you to come to the party." She shot a glance at her mother, then boldly sat up straighter. "I'm not going if you aren't."

"Michaela!" Elizabeth scolded.

Cal waved his hand. "No, that's fine. I'll wear the suit...if it means you'll go. Mike, your ma's planned this party for a long time. You oughta go."

Elizabeth smiled at Cal for the first time. "You see, Michaela? Even Mr. Brooks realizes all the effort I've put into this evening." She rose from the breakfast table, dabbing the corners of her mouth with her napkin. "I'll have our driver summoned. You'll be back by lunch time, won't you?"

"Oh, you don't need to trouble him. I can drive us," Cal offered. "I got lots of experience in big cities, and 'sides, I don't really mind."

"I'd like that," Michaela said, giving him a smile.

Elizabeth chuckled. "Oh, no, Mr. Brooks. You're our guest. We can't have you driving our carriage all over Boston like a regular servant. What would people think?"

"Oh...all right, Mrs. Quinn." Cal quieted, bending his head as he took a few more bites of eggs, his appetite suddenly gone.

& & &

"So we got to talking," Cal went on as he and Michaela strolled down the sidewalk, occasionally glancing in the store windows, "and she told me all about you, when you were little."

"Oh?" Michaela replied. "What did Martha say?"

He took her hand. "Oh, all about how she looked after ya since the day you were born, and how ya always got away from her." He chuckled. "She said you were always getting under beds and sofas and things, and this one time ya climbed into a cabinet drawer in your pa's office and fell asleep! Now how do ya s'pose you managed that, Mike? Gosh, you were just a baby."

"Katie used to do that," Michaela offered softly. "We'd turn our back on her for a moment and she'd crawl off somewhere and hide. It was all a game to her."

"Well, Martha found ya of course, eventually. She was so scared your pa and ma were gonna get upset and maybe even dismiss her, but I guess your pa just laughed. I would have liked to meet him, your pa."

Michaela nodded, not speaking.

"But Martha said just the same you were the sweetest baby she ever did have under her wing. I bet you were, too." He smiled and kissed her cheek, and much to his chagrin, Michaela remained solemn and unresponsive.

"You're awful quiet," Cal said at last. "Something wrong?"

"No." She lowered her eyes. "Nothing, it's just I don't think you should...w-we should...Cal, I don't think we should be so affectionate in public. Especially in Boston"

"You mean kissing?" he said, bewildered. "Mike..."

"I know you didn't mean to, but you embarrassed me in front of my mother," she attempted to explain. "Mother was quite obviously...offended."

"At breakfast?" he queried, taken off guard. "I-I'm sorry. I had no idea."

"That's all right. It's just in certain places it's not appropriate," she went on. "Like on the streets of Boston for instance. People are staring."

Cal glanced around. "No one's staring, Mike," he told her. "And if they are...why, they're looking at this pretty lady on my arm and wondering how I got so lucky."

"Cal," she chided.

He shielded his eyes from the sun and looked up at a sign over a shop. "Mann's Jewelers. Let's go in here. I love the watch ya got me last Christmas. Maybe we could find one like it for Brian."

"That's a good idea. I think he'd like that," Michaela agreed, momentarily putting the incident behind them.

& & &

"Now this one," went on the shopkeeper as he placed another watch in Michaela's hands, "is perfect for any young lad. Finest quality at a reasonable price."

Michaela opened the silver plated watch and turned it back and forth. "I don't know. Do you like it, Cal?"

Clearly distracted, he shrugged. "It's all right." He strolled over to the shopkeeper's apprentice who was arranging a display of bracelets, broaches, and rings in a glass case.

Michaela frowned. "I think we'd like to see some more first."

"Of course, of course," the shopkeeper consented. He unlocked a leather briefcase and laid several more watches on the counter. "This is the place to be if you'd like a watch," he went on. "You won't find a wider selection in all of Boston."

"Well, we're just looking," Michaela told him. "Right, Cal?"

Cal glanced up from the counter quickly. "Hm? Oh, right. Just looking." He stroked his chin in thought. "Mike? Mike, come here a second."

"What is it?" Michaela asked, joining him at the counter. She followed his gaze to the several rings on display. "Oh, aren't those pretty."

"Ya think so?" Cal asked hopefully. "Which...which one's the prettiest?"

Michaela opened her mouth to reply, then caught herself. She looked from the ring display to Cal, then back again. "...Why?"

Cal scratched his head. "Nothing...I was just wondering, you know, what you like and things. Yeah."

Fear gripped Michaela's throat as she glanced over the rings again, wondering if she was misinterpreting Cal's timid probing. "Oh...well, these necklaces are nice," she said nervously, leading him away from the rings.

Disappointed, Cal gazed at the necklaces, not really seeing them. "I guess. Oh, uh, Brian's watch," he stammered. "Maybe we should stop in a few other places first."

"All right." Michaela realized she had hurt Cal's feelings, but was unable to speak an apology, let alone try to explain she wasn't ready to even begin thinking of rings, if only hypothetically.

"You go on, get in the carriage. I'll be along in a second," he promised. He was embarrassed and ashamed. He shouldn't have pushed such a thing. He knew better.

"All right," she said again, sighing.

to be continued...


	26. Chapter 39

Chapter Thirty-nine

Cal did a turn around in front of his mirror, holding the lapels of his new suitcoat, then shot a beaming glance at a clearly anxious Michaela. "I love it, Mike. It feels great, looks great too, don't ya think?"

"Maybe we should have gone a little fancier," Michaela said worriedly, smoothing his navy blue vest.

"No, I like this just fine," he told her. "Any fancier and it just wouldn't be me. I remember when I was little hating to wear these things. During church I'd be tugging at my tie 'til by the end of the service I had it off..."

Hardly listening to him, Michaela led him to the chair in front of the vanity. "Sit down. Let me comb your hair."

"I just combed it," Cal replied, growing irritated with her. "Stop fussing."

Ignoring his protests, Michaela ran the comb through his hair several times, parting it and re-parting it until she was satisfied. All the while Cal let out impatient sighs, resting his chin on his hand and slouching in the chair.

"You need a shave," Michaela said at last, running the back of her hand down his cheek.

He smiled, taking her hand. "I bet you could do a good job."

Michaela nodded slowly. "Yes...yes I bet I could." She patted his shoulder. "You sit here; don't move. I'll bring up some water and return momentarily. Don't move, Cal. You'll wrinkle your suit."

He wiggled in his chair teasingly, but Michaela was too fretful to be amused, and hurriedly walked out of the room for the water.

Maureen and Claudette bustled down the hallway to the guestroom, bursting with curiosity about the man Michaela had brought with her. Fathoming an excuse to speak with him, they rapped determinedly on his door and entered before Cal had a chance to answer.

"Mr. Brooks?" one spoke, unabashed.

Cal turned in his chair, taking in the two lavishly clothed women with wide eyes. "Oh. Yeah?"

"Mother would like to know when you and Michaela will be joining us downstairs. Half the guests have arrived."

"Well, um, Mike's gonna help give me a shave and then after that I guess we'll be down," Cal explained. He scratched his chin. "Are you Michaela's sisters? You all look like each other a little."

"Oh, yes. Forgive me. I'm Claudette." She shook his hand lightly.

"Maureen," her sister said with a soft smile.

"I'm Cal," he replied.

Claudette chuckled. "Yes, we know."

"Your ma sure picked out pretty names for all of you," Cal replied with a smile.

"Why, thank you," Maureen breathed, surprised. "How nice of you to say."

Cal was younger than the two sisters had pictured, but quite handsome and well-dressed in his suit. He did indeed need a shave, but that would be improved in a few minutes.

"Mother tells us you're a stagecoach driver," Claudette spoke.

"Yes, ma'am. That is, I used to be. Worked for a time with Wells Fargo."

"A stagecoach driver! Imagine!" exclaimed Maureen. "From what I hear the roads out West are brimming with outlaws and thieves and Indians on the war-path."

Cal shrugged. "Well, not exactly..." He cleared his throat. "...There was this one time-"

"Oh, do tell," urged Claudette.

He lowered his voice for effect. "We--me and the other driver Harry--we were going along like any other day, see, and all of a sudden a band of Indians came up and attacked us, killed our passengers. We got away though, Harry and me."

"Oh, my!" Maureen breathed, covering her mouth with one hand.

"How dreadful!" Claudette bemoaned. "I'm sure I would have been terrified out of my wits by those blood-thirsty savages."

"Yeah." Cal thought back to the time he had sat in Cloud Dancing's teepee as the wise Indian told him about the Cheyenne. "But...they probably attacked us 'cause we were on their land. They were only defending themselves."

"I thought the government solved that problem by putting the Indians on Reservations," Maureen said.

"I used to think that, too, but it ain't so," Cal admitted. "Reservations ain't what ya think. They make things worse, sometimes."

"Oh, come now," Claudette reproached. "If Reservations weren't solving the problem why would the government be enforcing them so?"

"Have those politicians in Washington ever stepped foot on a Reserva-?" Cal began.

"And coming from you, Mr. Brooks," Claudette went on. "You who witnessed the scalping of all those innocent passengers. My heavens, you're worse than Michaela!"

"I worry about the poor dear every waking day," Maureen added. "She could be scalped by savages and none of us would know the better. Gracious. I do wish she would abandon that heathen territory and return home for good."

"You want her to move here to Boston?" Cal questioned. "I don't think Mike would ever do that. She loves Colorado Springs. I've grown to love it, too."

"Are you saying you know better than we what's in our sister's best interest?" demanded Claudette.

"With all do respect Mike ain't a child," Cal replied. "No matter what anyone thinks she's gonna live where she wants to live, and that's Colorado Springs."

"Well, of course she wanted to be where Mr. Sully was," Maureen said understandingly. "But things are different now. She has nothing there any longer, and everything here in Boston. She should be home with her family, with people of her own kind."

"Sure Mike has something in Colorado," Cal contended. "She's got her clinic, and all her patients that need her, and her kids. Brian's got friends there, and helps out with the Gazette and things, and Katie and Byron don't know anything different. Can't imagine dragging them across the country to live in a big city like this. And she's got...she's got me. I'm starting up a business in town. I can't have my business here. Boston's got enough streetcars without me entering into it. Mike knows I can't move here any more than she can."

"You behave as if you're married to her!" Claudette accused.

"Now we've been over this in our minds again and again, Mr. Brooks," Maureen said. "No obstacle can't be overcome. Michaela will be much happier, and much safer for that matter, here where she should be."

Cal couldn't help but laugh. "Good luck trying to convince Mike of that. Doubt she'll give the idea the time of day."

"Well!" Claudette exclaimed. "If you aren't the most pompous, smart-mouthed, forward...and who gave you permission to call our sister 'Mike'?"

"That was Father's nickname for Michaela," Maureen informed him sourly.

"Come along, Maureen," Claudette said, taking her sister's arm. "We've wasted enough of our time." The two ladies headed toward the door, exaggerated scowls across their faces.

Cal stood up to call after them and even offer an apology, though he didn't feel in the wrong, but just then Michaela appeared in the doorway, balancing a bowl of water in her hands.

Michaela passed her ruffled sisters as they stepped out the door. "Maureen...Claudette? What's the matter?" she asked, bewildered.

"We should have known you'd bring home someone like &him&!" Claudette replied. "Oh, why do we even try?" she sighed.

"Mother said he was outspoken, but I had no idea!" Maureen grumbled.

Eyebrows raised, Michaela entered the room, shutting the door behind her. "Cal, what did you say to them?" she asked immediately, placing the water on the nightstand and draping a towel across his chest.

Cal sunk back into his chair. "Nothing. Nothing, Mike. We were only talking and they got all...all upset with me. They seemed nice enough at first."

"Honestly," Michaela sighed as she worked up a lather of soap and patted his cheeks with it. "You've only just met my sisters and already you can't get along."

He cleared his throat. "Look, the truth is, they got this crazy idea in their heads you're gonna move here, here to Boston. They were being so...so funny about it I just couldn't keep my mouth shut."

"Heaven forbid we should keep our mouth shut," Michaela murmured. "Hold still," she instructed as she unclasped his razor and swiped it clean with the edge of the towel.

"It ain't true, is it?" Cal asked as Michaela ran the razor carefully down his left cheek.

"What?" Michaela asked, completely focused on her work.

"You know, about you moving back to Boston," he said quietly.

Michaela rested the razor in the water and squeezed his hand. "Of course not."

He smiled. "Good."

"At one time...I considered it," she began. "Sully...Sully was gone and I felt as if I couldn't bear to be surrounded by memories of him for a moment longer. But now..."

"Now?" Cal prompted softly.

Michaela's nervousness about the impending party vanished for the moment, and she gave Cal a light kiss on his cheek. "Everything that's important to me is in Colorado Springs."

Cal took his thumb and swiped away a dollop of soap foam that had clung to her lips. "Everything that's important to me is standing here right now," he replied.

Michaela smiled shyly, then picked up the razor, dried it on the towel and resumed her work. "You'll have to be patient with my family. They like you-"

"No they don't," Cal replied.

"They do, they only have to get used to you," Michaela insisted. She tilted his chin back to shave his neck.

"Didn't know I was that hard to get used to," Cal said, sighing.

"Shh, try not to talk. I don't want to cut you," Michaela told him.

"Guess maybe if I was to be more quiet," he went on, "they'd like me better. Ya think, Mike? But I can't help it. Your sisters were talking about the Indians and things, and I couldn't just sit there."

"Try, Cal...please?" Michaela said quietly.

Cal looked her in the eyes, and realized he was an embarrassment to her, at least in the presence of her family. He felt terrible. "All right, I'll try, Mike. I will. I promise."

& & &

"&Mother&, the guests are growing impatient," Marjorie whispered disapprovingly. "Look at her. She conversed only with &him& throughout dinner, now she's dancing with no one but &him&, and she hasn't so much as glanced at anyone else this entire evening!."

"They &are& courting," Rebecca said sensibly. "And the other men may cut in if they like."

Elizabeth rapped her fingers on the table. "You're right, Marjorie. Michaela is being rude." She nodded decidedly. "I'll speak with her."

"Mother," Rebecca protested. "Don't you think you're being unfair? Cal is Michaela's beau. She has no reason to want to get to know all of these men in such a setting."

"I have nothing against Mr. Brooks, Rebecca," Elizabeth replied, "but I did not organize this party for my daughter and that man to dance the night away. Won't I be the talk tomorrow!"

As the waltz came to a close, Michaela and Cal slowed to a stop and they clapped politely for the quartet.

"Tired yet?" Cal asked softly, taking her hand.

"No," Michaela replied.

Cal stole a glance at the bachelors scattered about the room. The men who were dancing often stole glances at Michaela, eager to have a turn with her, and the others stood restlessly tapping their feet, crossing their arms, or making idle conversation with one another.

"You want to...want to sit the next one out?" he asked.

"Not particularly," Michaela told him with a smile.

Still insecure, Cal squeezed her hand. "You don't want to dance with somebody else? Ain't--&aren't& some of your old friends here? I don't mind. Really."

"I want to dance with you," Michaela told him.

Cal wrapped his arm around her waist and brought his lips to her ear. "I love you," he whispered.

"Michaela?" Elizabeth sternly took her daughter's arm, splitting the couple apart. "Might I have a word?"

"...I'll, uh, get us some punch," Cal said awkwardly, making his way to the refreshments table.

"Just what do you think you're doing?" Elizabeth demanded as soon as she and Michaela were in the hallway and out of earshot.

"Dancing at my party," Michaela told her simply.

"Spare me, Michaela," Elizabeth muttered. "All of these charming young men did not come tonight to be brushed aside for a cowboy."

"With his new suit I think he looks just like the other men," Michaela said hopefully.

"He's not from Beacon Hill and nothing can change that," Elizabeth retorted. "You can dress a sparrow as a peacock but he'll always be a sparrow."

Michaela bent her head, embarrassed. "I'm sorry, Mother."

Elizabeth scowled. "Yes, you should be." She softened. "But there's still time to make amends. Dance with some of our guests. Cal needs a rest anyway. &Please&, Michaela. If nothing else do it for me."

"...And so you see this is what Michaela grew up with, this is where she belongs and this is where she should be. Why, this is all that she knows," Marjorie finished as Cal poured punch into a glass from the ladle.

"Well, she told me she ain't moving here ever," Cal replied, taking a sip of the punch. "And she knows a lot more than this. So do I."

"You want the very best for her, don't you?" Marjorie questioned. "You want her to be happy?"

"Course I do," Cal said, aggravated.

"Then you must aid in convincing Michaela the best place for her is here," Marjorie told him. "If it's you she's staying in Colorado for I wish she would think past tomorrow. She has her future to consider. The future of those children! How many are there now?"

"I'm in Michaela's future," Cal replied abruptly.

Marjorie glared at him. "What are you saying...are you saying you have plans to...to &marry& her?"

"Well, maybe we've--I've thought about it," Cal said defensively. "So what if I have?"

"As if she would make the same mistake twice!" Marjorie retorted. Her lips curled into a smile. "Oh, look," she said sweetly. "Michaela is dancing with that enchanting Dr. Laurence. He's a graduate of &Harvard&."

Cal followed her gaze, and Michaela gave him a helpless half-smile.

"What did you say you did again, Mr. Brooks?" Marjorie probed. "You're building--something-or-other in town?"

"A...a streetcar business," Cal said quietly.

"Ah, yes. I remember. Well, I don't imagine you can obtain a degree in streetcars from Harvard!" Marjorie chuckled.

Cal put down his punch glass and the glass he had poured for Michaela. "I best turn in."

"So soon?"

Cal shrugged. "Mike's all right without me. It's her party, after all. Tell her I said goodnight?"

"Of course I will," Marjorie promised as one of the guests invited her to dance. "Sweet dreams."

"Right. Thanks," Cal muttered, turning to leave the room. He paused to glance at Michaela, wave goodnight to her even, but she was conversing with her dance partner, and he couldn't catch her eye. Letting out a sigh, he pulled off his tie and made his way toward the stairs.

Terrance Stein, a graying, though young businessman with an obstinate smirk, poured alcohol from a flask in his suit coat pocket into his punch glass. He took a sip, then offered the flask to the gathering of men at the base of the stairs.

"If I could slip some of that into Miss Quinn's punch...this party would be even more delightful," chuckled one of the men, pointing his thumb at Terrance's punch glass.

The group echoed with devious laughter.

"There's far more I'd like to slip by that woman," Terrance chuckled.

"Good luck," said his friend, slapping him on his back.

"Oh, you don't think I can?" he replied. "Fifty dollars says I can--charm that enchanting Michaela into my bed by the end of the night. Any takers?"

"What was that?" Cal demanded, his throat tightening.

The man turned his eyes toward Cal, glaring at him. "Mr. Brooks. I-I thought you were dancing with Miss Mich-"

"&What& did you say?" Cal shot back, walking towards him determinedly.

The man chuckled, slapping him on the back. "Oh, come, now. We were only having some fun, good man. You know just as well as the rest of us you wouldn't mind getting your hands on that lovely lady."

Without warning, Cal gave him a swift punch in the nose. The punch glass went falling to the floor and stained the oriental carpet. Teeth clenched, Cal grabbed the man's suit coat, pressing him against the banister posts by the lapels. "Don't you ever, &ever&, talk about her like that again," he spoke sternly. He released Terrance just as suddenly as he had attacked him, pushing him backward.

Shocked, the man fell against the banister, gasping and clutching his nose. "How dare you!" he choked. "I-I'll have you arrested!" The group of men moved themselves between Terrance and Cal, eyeing the two carefully, prepared to break up any more fighting.

"Drunken bastard," Cal told Terrance vehemently, brow narrowed.

"What in heaven's name is going on here?" Elizabeth demanded, hurrying to the commotion followed by Michaela, her sisters, and several party guests.

"Cal!" Michaela exclaimed. "Oh, Cal," she murmured, disconcerted.

"Mr. Brooks, I am stunned!" Elizabeth told him, her lips pursed. "Now I don't know how you behave in Colorado, but in this house you are ¬& to attack my guests!"

Michaela approached Terrance, gave him her handkerchief for his bloody nose, and then gently prodded his nose for injuries. "It's not broken," she told him quietly. "You'll be fine."

"I had better be fine or that man is responsible!" he replied, eyeing Cal furiously.

"He's an absolute heathen, just as I suspected," Claudette spoke up firmly.

"Disgraceful!" Marjorie added. Her eyes widened with horror as she bent and picked up the empty punch glass. "Mother, see what he did!"

Suddenly Martha emerged from the crowd, her hand pressed to her forehead as she took in the red punch stain. "My carpet!"

Terrance stumbled to his feet, pinching his nose with Michaela's handkerchief. "The &carpet&? See what that animal did to &me&!"

"&Mr. Brooks&, what is the meaning of this?" Elizabeth demanded, brow narrowed.

"I didn't...he-I-..." Cal began, then trailed off. He couldn't tell Elizabeth the crude remarks Terrance had made about her daughter. She'd be distressed, humiliated, and more importantly, so would Michaela. "I'm sorry," he finally muttered.

"I should think so!" Elizabeth exclaimed. "I suggest you retire upstairs now, young man. You've proven to us you're no more capable of controlling yourself than a savage."

"Cal, how could you?" Michaela murmured, shaking her head.

"I...I'm sorry, Mike," Cal answered quietly, turning to the stairs.

Shocked and humiliated, Michaela sunk into a chair as the guests disbanded back into the party room, leaving Michaela, her mother and sisters, and Martha on her knees, tearfully scrubbing the carpet.

"Here, drink some punch," Rebecca offered, removing a glass from a tray a servant held and stepping forward to give it to her sister.

Reluctantly, Michaela took a few sips of the cool liquid. "Cal...sometimes something will set him off," she attempted to explain. She shook her head. "But he would never do that...never in front of all these people. And for no reason."

"Oh, he had a reason. Spite towards the other guests," Marjorie informed her. "Of course he can't measure up to the men here."

"No, of course not," Claudette agreed. "But it's through no fault of his own."

"He just...doesn't know any better," Maureen explained. "Appalling example for the children. I do hope they didn't see."

Struggling to keep back tears, Michaela found herself nodding slowly. "Perhaps I should...I should go up and find out how he is."

"Yes, that would be-" Rebecca began.

"No, no," Elizabeth interjected. She took Michaela's arm and helped her to her feet. "The quartet will be playing for another hour yet and you haven't given all our guests a chance to dance with you.

ompose yourself, dear. Let's not let this dreadful incident ruin the night."

& & &

"Perhaps you should give him the benefit of the doubt," Rebecca suggested as she kneeled behind Michaela and ran a brush through her hair, both in nightgowns and bathrobes. "Talk to him. Ask him what happened."

"I can't face him," Michaela replied. "I just can't believe he did that." She hugged her knees to her chest and let out a sigh.

"Michaela, I didn't want to say anything," Rebecca began softly. "I didn't want to repeat what I heard but--I know why Cal felt compelled to go after that man. If &man& is the right word."

Startled, Michaela turned around, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear. "You do?"

"I was leaving the kitchen just as it happened," Rebecca explained, placing the brush on the bed. "I was telling Cook more people had arrived than anticipated and if he wouldn't mind preparing additional hors d'oeuvres." She took her sister's hand. "Terrance Stein and several other men were congregating by the stairs between numbers. Let's just say they were making remarks they shouldn't have."

"Terrance seemed so pleasant when I danced with him," Michaela told her.

"Exactly. He made a bet with the other men that he could--well, it involved you, Michaela. Cal overheard and it struck a chord. That's why he went after him. He was protecting you."

"Oh, no," Michaela murmured. "I had no idea. I thought it was over...a petty squabble. I was so angry with him."

"After all that Mother and our sisters have said about him, I half expected Cal to join the jesting," Rebecca admitted. "But then to witness him defending you with such passion, the rage in his eyes when he heard your name spoken with ill-intentions--it takes a fool not to realize he's in love with you."

Michaela rested her head against her sister's shoulder. "I remember the talks we had when we were younger. You were the only woman I could confide in. I've missed that."

Rebecca kissed her head. "It's just like old times." When Michaela remained silent, she cleared her throat. "What's the matter? It's more than what happened this evening, isn't it?"

"I don't know," Michaela murmured. "It's just...you don't know how patient he's been with me. Cal waited for me three years before we began to court."

"He's an honest man," Rebecca replied. "More than honest."

"We were looking at rings the other day," Michaela continued softly. "Engagement rings."

"Oh, how wonderful," Rebecca remarked.

"I didn't react the way he had hoped. I couldn't help it. I was caught off guard. I'd been avoiding thinking about it." Michaela shook her head. "I'm frightened, Rebecca. I don't know if I'm prepared to marry again. I haven't...I haven't been able to tell Cal how I feel about him. I don't even &know& how I feel."

"Well, you'll want to know for certain if you decide to marry," Rebecca advised.

Michaela nodded. "Sometimes I think I never want to marry again, but then I'll imagine the rest of my life without Cal--and it hurts...almost as much as...I don't want anything without Cal with me to share it." She paused. "That's how I felt after Sully died. I didn't want to be happy unless he could be with me."

Rebecca squeezed her shoulder.

"What if I'm never ready?" Michaela whispered. "What if Cal doesn't want to wait any longer? That's not very fair to him, making him wait like this."

"Oh, Michaela." Rebecca gave her a tight hug. "What's fair to you both is not entering into something you're not yet prepared for. Cal loves you very much. He proved that tonight. He'll wait a little longer." She smiled. "But there's no harm in thinking about things, is there? There's no harm in looking at a few rings, hm?"

Michaela returned the smile. "I suppose not."

to be continued...


	27. Chapter 40

Chapter Forty

Gathering courage, Michaela rapped softly on the guestroom door. She waited a moment, and at last Cal opened the door, eyebrows raised in surprise.

"Mike," he murmured.

"I'm sorry, did I wake you?" she whispered timidly. He was barefoot, dressed in his shirt, wrinkled and untucked, unbuttoned suit coat vest, and matching trousers.

Cal cleared his throat. "No. I couldn't sleep." He hesitated, then took her hand. "Come in for a little bit."

"I couldn't sleep either, and I just thought we might talk for a few minutes," Michaela said gingerly.

He nodded. "Sure."

Shyly, she followed him into the guest bedroom, shutting the door behind her.

"I remember my ma, she'd sit on my bed and talk with me when I had trouble falling asleep," Cal told her. "That's how I learned Winken and Blinken. I'd always ask her to tell me that one." He led her over to the fireplace. "...You cold?" he asked. "I can add another log to the fire."

Self-conscious in only her nightgown and bathrobe, Michaela crossed her arms. "No, no. I'm fine."

"Well, I-" Cal began.

Michaela took his hand, quieting him. "I'm sorry."

"You're sorry?" Cal blurted, confused. "For what?"

"Rebecca told me why you went after Terrance," she explained. "She overheard." Michaela lowered her head, ashamed. "And I jumped to conclusions without bothering to ask your side of it."

"I'm sorry he said those things, Michaela. I'm sure he didn't mean them." He noticed tears glistening in her eyes. "Oh, don't. He didn't mean it."

"Oh, Cal," she murmured. "I'm upset with myself, not over what that man said. I'm sorry I didn't trust you. I should have known you wouldn't have attacked him without good reason."

"I shouldn'ta gone after him the way I did." He stepped forward and hugged her to him, stroking her hair comfortingly. "If it's anyone's fault it's mine."

"No it's not," Michaela contended.

"I muddled up everything," he insisted. "I stick out like a sore thumb here, I can't keep my thoughts to myself, I can't keep my fists to myself for that matter, I ruined your carpet, and now your ma and sisters hate me."

"They're only upset because they know nothing they say can convince me to move back to Boston," Michaela insisted. "And I'm the one who should be apologizing. I tried to change you to fit in with Beacon Hill, perhaps so they'd feel better about my staying in Colorado."

"I know I embarrass ya, Mike," he said, pulling back. "Ya don't have to pretend."

"Cal, the truth is I've been very foolish these past few days. Neither of us fit in here and there's nothing I can do about that. It's just I so wanted Mother to give you a chance. It means so much to me to have her approval...but then I realized these aren't the kind of people I want you to conform to. People who judge one another on such strict standards. They look at us and can't get past the fact that we aren't what they want us to be. What they can't see is how happy I am. I'm happier right now more than perhaps they'll be in their entire lives. I'm sorry it took me until tonight to come to that."

He gently squeezed her shoulder. "That's all right. I know what it's like wanting your ma to approve. Nothing I ever did was good enough for my pa, 'til I realized it doesn't matter what he thinks."

"I don't care what anyone thinks about us except you and me," Michaela replied.

"And what are you thinking about us right now?" he asked softly.

Michaela bit her lip. "I'm thinking we should go back to that shop we visited the other day," she said. "The one with the rings?"

Cal cleared his throat. "Oh. You do?"

"I didn't get a good look at them," she explained softly.

He let out a relieved sigh and kissed her cheek. "And that's all it has to be. Just a look. Maybe ya might tell me...which one's the prettiest?"

Michaela nodded, surprisingly at ease. Like Rebecca had said, there was no harm in just looking at the rings, or in allowing herself to contemplate the idea of marriage. He hadn't asked her to make the decision to commit, at least not yet. "I think...I wouldn't mind wearing any one of those rings," she told him softly, "if it was given to me from the heart." She paused, recalling the steep price tags. "But...I think the sentimental value in something small is more important than the largest diamond."

He kissed her in reply, then led her over to the bed. "Speaking of which, sit," he instructed.

She hesitated, but obeyed. "Cal...I should be getting back."

He squeezed her hand tight, looking her into the eyes. "It's all right. Just wait." He dug into the inside pocket of his vest, pulling out a small velvet box. "Been waiting to give these to ya," he said with a coy grin.

Eyebrows raised, Michaela opened the box. "Oh..." she murmured.

"They aren't real," he said softly, taking a seat beside her, "but I thought just the same they would look real nice on you."

"Even so they must have been terribly expensive," Michaela scolded. "Your streetcar-"

He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. "Nothing matters except how much I love you."

Michaela took a stiff breath and took out the shimmering diamond ear bobs, holding them up to the lamplight. "They're wonderful. Thank you."

"Well, I thought we might start off with something small," he told her, tracing her chin with his finger. "We can work our way up to rings."

"Yes. Cal, I want you to know that I hope...I hope someday I'll be ready," she told him, voice unsteady. "Rebecca says when that day comes I'll know."

He took a deep breath. "For me, Mike?"

She nodded breathlessly. "You're the only man I want to be courting. I don't care about any others either. That's one thing I'm certain of." She dangled the earrings in the air. "Shall I put these on?"

He smiled. "Yeah. I'll get ya a mirror-" he began. He watched mouth agape as she put the earrings in with little effort.

"How'd ya do that? How do you know where the hole is without a mirror?" he asked curiously.

"I don't know," she murmured.

"It don't hurt, does it?" he went on worriedly.

She chuckled. "No. Haven't you ever seen a woman wearing ear bobs?"

"Never this close," he admitted. "You women. I learn something new every day."

She smiled, taking his hand.

Timidly, he leaned forward and planted a gentle kiss to her earlobe. "You sure have pretty ears."

"Ears?" Michaela echoed, her cheeks warming.

"Hm-mm," he murmured, wrapping his arm around her waist. He planted light kisses across her cheek, working his way to her lips. After a minute he tenderly laid her in his place on the bed, then leaned over her, caressing her waist with one hand and her neck with the other as they gave each other warm, loving kisses and caresses.

Michaela lay breathless at Cal's powerful touch. It was a touch that gave her more than just physical pleasure, but a deep emotional gratification as well, one that had been missing since her union with Sully. One that frightened her, but left her wanting more.

"I'm glad I came, Michaela," Cal whispered, threading his fingers with hers.

"You are?" she responded hoarsely.

"Sure I am. You and me were brought up the same. Everything we could want was at our fingertips."

"I understand why you left Chicago for the West, Cal," Michaela told him. "I've been through it myself."

"No one's ever understood me like you do," he replied, kissing the tip of her nose. "Never thought I would meet someone like you."

"I never thought our trip would be this eventful," Michaela said wryly.

He tickled her chin. "We're gonna have a lotta stories to tell the kids."

"The children," Michaela murmured, eyes sombering. "I miss them so much. I wonder if Byron's had an attack. I don't know if he can make it three weeks without an attack."

"He's being looked after real good. And Andrew's just a few miles away if they need a doctor," Cal reassured her. "Gosh, I can't believe that little boy's three years old."

"That means we've known each other for three years," Michaela pointed out.

"Sometimes, I feel like I've known ya forever," Cal replied. "I feel like we've been best friends since before I could remember."

"Are we best friends, Cal?" Michaela asked.

"Well, you're the closest friend I've ever known," Cal remarked. He gave her a kiss. "But you're much more than a friend."

"I lost my best friend four years ago," Michaela whispered. "Sometimes I'm afraid if I make a new friend, I'll lose him, too, or he'll hurt me, or things won't work out. I know it's irrational, but I can't help it."

He squeezed her hands. "Michaela, I promise I'll never hurt you, at least if I can help it. And if we give it a little more time, I think it's gonna work." He caressed her cheeks. "Ya've got my heart, darlin'. Even if I tried I couldn't pull it back."

"Even the strongest man couldn't get it back?" she teased.

"Nope, or even a team of horses strapped to it," he chuckled. "And I wouldn't have it any other way," he added. He eyed her anxiously, rubbing her arm. "You're cold. Here." He pulled the covers out from under them. "Put your feet under," he instructed.

"Just for a moment," Michaela spoke, reluctantly removing her slippers and placing them on the vanity, then slipping her legs beneath the sheets.

Cal pulled the quilts up to their waists. "Feel better now?" He took care to remain on his side of the bed, and kept one hand beneath his head and the other at his side.

"Not quite," Michaela whispered. She stretched her arms in his direction, raising her eyebrows.

"It's all right?" he asked softly, gathering her against his chest.

"It's all right," she affirmed, kissing him.

He smiled. "I'm glad. This feels much better."

"But I should go back to my room in a minute," she murmured. "It's awfully late."

"Then that minute will be ours," he said, cradling her closer.

& & &

Michaela squinted her eyes as the morning sunlight peeked through the curtains. She groaned tiredly, then smiled as she felt Cal's hand about her waist.

Cal.

Her eyes snapped open and her breath caught in her throat. She stared out the window, her heart beating fast.

"Oh, no," she murmured at last.

She rubbed her temples, trying to fully rouse herself and gain her senses. She thought back to the night before. She had invited Cal to hold her, then they had kissed and caressed for quite awhile, Michaela remembered blushingly. Then tiredly, they had whispered to each some more, about the children, the streetcar business, until...Michaela's blush deepened. They must have fallen asleep. It had been late, after midnight at least, they'd laid together for over an hour, comfortable and relaxed under the warm covers. She should have known if she closed her eyes she would risk falling asleep in Cal's secure, warm arms.

Slowly, she turned her head to face Cal. He was cuddled against her like a small child, his lips forming the slightest smile, his chest slowly heaving up and down, his face so serene in slumber.

Gradually, Michaela's lips mirrored Cal's smile. There was no reason to be upset. Nothing had happened. No, that wasn't entirely true. Something had happened. For the first time since before Sully's death she had woken secure, peaceful, and happy in the arms of a man. There was indeed nothing like waking to one's lover at the start of the day. Michaela sighed contently, turned on her side and carefully, gave Cal's lips a gentle peck. He sighed softly in his sleep, stretched his arms, and tightened his protective hold about her waist.

Satisfied, Michaela tucked her head beneath his chin, closed her eyes, and within a few minutes drifted back to sleep.

& & &

"They're late," Elizabeth grumbled, her breakfast untouched. She tapped her index finger impatiently on the table. "Both of them."

"Yes, mum," Martha agreed obediently, standing beside her mistress with a pitcher of coffee and a dishcloth in hand.

"That man is a horrid influence on my daughter," Elizabeth went on. "She's always been on time for meals before."

"I thought he was very pleasant when I conversed with him," Martha said. She couldn't keep back a girlish giggle. "And handsome, too." She noted Elizabeth's scowl. "Though he did ruin the carpet," she added hastily.

"He's ruined absolutely everything," Elizabeth said melodramatically. "Martha, please go upstairs and wake Michaela and her--friend. I will not wait a moment longer."

"Yes, mum," Martha replied, placing the coffee on the table and hurrying out of the room. She ascended the stairs to Michaela's bedroom and knocked on the door. "Miss Michaela? It's after eight o'clock," she called sweetly. She opened the door a small amount. "Breakfast is on the table, Miss-" She paused, noting the bed made up without a wrinkle in the bedspread. "Oh," she spoke, disconcerted as she glanced around the room. "Miss Michaela? Are you here?"

Fretfully, Martha bustled out of the room and down the hall to the guest bedroom. "Mr. Brooks? Oh, please wake up, sir!" she called, wrapping on his door. "It's after eight o'clock and Miss Michaela is nowhere to be found." She opened the door a crack. "I fear she m-might be kidnapped!" she stammered tearfully. "The mistress is going to have a fit. Oh, where could she be?" She stopped short as Cal rolled over in bed, rubbing his eyes.

"What's all the racket?" he muttered sleepily.

Yawning, Michaela looped her hands around Cal's arm. "Hm...what's the matter, Cal?"

Eyes widening, Martha stepped back. "Mr. Brooks...Miss Michaela. I-I..."

Michaela shot up in bed, her heart skipping a beat. "Martha...I didn't hear you knock..."

"I d-did, Miss," she stuttered, continuing to move back. "No one...answered." She stepped into the hallway. "The mistress says f-for y-you---the two of you to join her for breakfast." She bit her lip. "Oh, dear!" With that she shut the door on them, and Michaela and Cal heard her scurrying down the hall and descending the stairs.

Cal burst into laughter. "Did you see her face?"

"Cal!" Michaela scolded. "We nearly gave her a heart attack."

"That's the funny part." He kissed her cheek. "...I guess we fell asleep," he whispered.

"I guess we did," she admitted.

He grew serious. "I'm sorry."

She gave him a half smile. "Don't apologize. But Martha's bound to think we..." She reddened.

"But we'll know what happened. We were talking and then fell asleep," Cal told her, taking her hand. "Don't matter what anyone else thinks."

"And we were kissing," Michaela added under her breath.

"And kissing," Cal admitted, smacking her on the lips.

Michaela couldn't help but smile once more, then swung her legs out of the bed and put her slippers on. "We'd best go to breakfast."

As she rose Cal grabbed her hand. "Mike? It was…it was nice waking up to ya," he told her softly. "An accident, but nice."

Michaela squeezed his hand, gazing into his eyes, then opened the door and headed to her bedroom.

& & &

"Well?" Elizabeth demanded. "Are they coming down? My breakfast is fast becoming cold."

Martha treaded into the breakfast room, eyes unfocused.

Elizabeth gazed at her curiously. "Martha, answer me. Did you send for Michaela and Mr. Brooks?"

"Yes," Martha choked out.

"And are they coming? Speak up," Elizabeth prompted. She sighed. "Martha, &what& is the matter? You look as if you've seen a ghost!"

Suddenly, Martha burst into tears. "Oh, please, Mrs. Quinn. Don't be upset with me. I j-just...you see I w-went to Miss Michaela's room just as you told me to and-and-" She pulled out a hankie and blew her nose.

"What are you blubbering about?" Elizabeth demanded, rising to her feet. "What in heaven's name happened?"

"...Miss Michaela didn't sleep in her bed last night," Martha sobbed, dabbing at her eyes with the handkerchief. "And I couldn't think where she c-could be. I was so frightened."

"Didn't sleep in her bed?" Elizabeth blurted. "Absurd. She was in her room with Rebecca when I went to bid her goodnight after the party. Where else &would& she sleep?"

Martha cried harder. "Master-Master...Master Cal's room, mum."

Elizabeth's mouth dropped open in shock and she grabbed the back of her chair to steady herself. "Heaven help us," she whispered. "If he isn't the downfall of us all." She took a stiff breath. "Martha, you're certain?"

The servant nodded, sniffling. "I went to wake him, and they were th-there...in his b-bed, a-a-asleep."

"Michaela's father would have that young man in two pieces by now," Elizabeth remarked, her cheeks flushing. She patted Martha's shoulder. "Thank you, Martha. Run along, now."

"I'm sorry, mum," Martha told her. "I only did as you said."

"Enough of that. It's certainly not &your& fault," Elizabeth replied. She gripped the servant's arm. "But not a word of this to anyone, do you understand?"

Martha curtsied. "Oh, yes, mum. I mean, no, not a word. Thank you."

& & &

Elizabeth stormed into her daughter's room, fuming with anger.

Michaela was in her undergarments, pulling on her stockings. "I didn't know knocking was that difficult," she said under her breath.

"Don't start, Michaela," Elizabeth retorted. "You had better have a good explanation for being in that man's bed last night. You don't know how eager I am to hear it."

"We were talking, and we fell asleep," Michaela said calmly. "I'm sorry we gave Martha such a fright." She opened her bureau and pulled out a simple emerald green gown, one that felt much more like home.

"Oh, you were just having a little chat," Elizabeth said sarcastically. "Michaela, what on earth were you doing there in the first place?! The years and years your father and I spent, molding our daughters into dignified, respectable young women, all gone to shambles! Entering a man's bedroom in the middle of the night. Good heavens."

"I was apologizing," Michaela replied simply. "I couldn't let Cal go to sleep thinking I was upset with him. He had reason to attack Mr. Stein, a reason I wasn't made aware of until after the fact." She stepped into the gown.

"And you thought, while I'm at it, I'll go to bed with him!" Elizabeth retorted. "And who's to say this is the first time? Are you deliberately trying to destroy the Quinn family name before all of Boston gentility? For all I know you and that-that creature--why, I'll wager the two of you have made it a habit! Disgusting."

"We were &talking& and we laid down," Michaela insisted, reaching behind her to fasten the clasps of her dress. "The next thing I knew it was morning. It was an accident!"

"Oh, I see. I'm supposed to believe you accidentally walked into that room, accidentally laid down on his bed, accidentally 'fell asleep'. Next you're going to tell me you're &accidentally& carrying that man's child!"

"You've never supported my decisions in life, no matter what I've done, and you're always jumping to conclusions," Michaela said vehemently. "And truthfully I don't find my personal life to be any of your business to begin with. I'm a grown woman, Mother. Believe what you like. I don't care any more."

"No, you never did care," Elizabeth responded. "Michaela, I want him out of this house. He's disgraced us all, more than once! I'd rather never see him again, and I'd rather you didn't either!"

"Mother, I love him!" Michaela told her ardently. "Nothing else matters!" She stopped short. "I &love& him," she murmured hoarsely.

Elizabeth opened her mouth to protest, but paused as she looked into her daughter's eyes, glistening with tears. "...Well, my goodness. You do love him," she whispered.

Weakly, Michaela sunk into her vanity chair, the depth and sincerity of her declaration hitting her hard. Cal made her happy, he made her family happy, he was a remarkable man, he loved her, and she loved him. There was no reason to continue denying it.

"Then you didn't drag him all the way here just to rile me?" Elizabeth asked, half-seriously.

Michaela couldn't help but chuckle. "No, contrary to popular belief." She took a deep breath. "I want you to know after Sully died I had no intention whatsoever of falling in love again."

"Michaela, you're far too young to be alone the rest of your life," Elizabeth scolded. "And with those children." She averted her eyes. "I must admit I've prayed time and again you would come home and find a suitable man. You seemed to have no interest in anything of the sort, and it...well, it troubled me. I want all of my daughters to live long, happy lives."

"For a time I wasn't happy," Michaela admitted. "And I had accepted that I never would be again, not without Sully. That was when I met Cal. Mind you agreeing to court him wasn't an easy decision to make. Rather it was one I agonized over literally for years."

"...I had no idea you were having such a difficult time," Elizabeth told her.

"Mother, don't you see?" Michaela whispered. "I've gotten through the difficult times, when I never thought I would, with Cal's help. He's been here for me since the day Byron was born. He's caring, loving, and faithful, and protective of both myself and my children. Perhaps his one fault is his need to protect us, and is that really a fault? I can think of far worse. I know you would feel better if I were interested in a match with one of the men at the party last night, but that's just not me. Cal's filled something inside me that no one else has been able to since Sully died. If only you could see that."

"I suppose I don't know him very well," Elizabeth assented.

"Oh, I want you to get to know him," Michaela said eagerly. "That would mean so much to me. You might have more in common than you realize. Do you know he's from a very prominent family in Chicago? We had quite similar upbringings."

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. "Oh? One would certainly never have guessed it from his behavior as of late."

"But it shouldn't matter," Michaela responded, ignoring her mother's remark. "One shouldn't judge a person by their background, or where they live, or how they dress. If people would stop to catch their breaths perhaps they would be able to see who Cal truly is. I'm proud to stand by his side."

"If he really loved you he would want you to stay here, in Boston," Elizabeth said.

"He does love me," Michaela replied, "and he wants me to do what makes me happy. If I told him today I wanted to live in Boston, he would support me, but that's not the case. I've decided where I want to live for myself, and no one else should be held accountable for it."

Elizabeth let out a sigh. "Well, your father and I also raised you to think for yourself," she admitted, "and it's clear once again you certainly have a mind of your own. Of that I'm proud. I suppose I...I miss you, Michaela. I worry about you, especially now that you're on your own raising my grandchildren. I thought you all might try to be happy here…Forgive my foolish notions."

Michaela smiled faintly. "It makes me very happy visiting Boston, visiting &you&, Mother, but my heart belongs to Cal now, and my soul...my soul is in Colorado."

& & &

"Mr. Brooks?" Elizabeth called, knocking on Cal's door. "You will be joining us for breakfast, won't you?" She opened the door to see Cal turning from the mirror where he had been carefully combing his hair.

"Mrs. Quinn," he murmured. "Didn't think you'd...you'd want me to come down. But that's all right. I'm fine," he added hastily. "Look, about Mike and I, I mean, last night-"

"Michaela explained what happened, and now we shall put it behind us," Elizabeth replied. "You're to join us for breakfast. Michaela has...helped me realize that though you've been here several days I have not taken the time to get acquainted with you."

He smiled hesitantly. "I'd love to get to know you, Mrs. Quinn."

Elizabeth couldn't help but be flattered. "You would? Well, then."

He stepped toward her, clearing his throat. "...With all that's happened ya probably don't think much of me right now...but I want to tell you that, well, I love your daughter. I love her more than anything, and there's nothing I wouldn't do for her."

"She apparently feels the same," Elizabeth said amiably.

Cal raised his eyebrows. "She does? I mean, I think she does. I ain't sure."

"I can no longer stand between Michaela and someone whom clearly makes her quite happy. Admittedly happier than I've seen her in four years." Elizabeth smiled. "Promise me one thing, young man."

"What?" he asked anxiously.

She let out a sigh. "Promise you'll encourage her to write me more often, please? I want to be kept abreast of you two."

Cal chuckled. "I'll try." He grew serious. "Thanks, Mrs. Quinn."

"I feel like an old woman when you call me that." She thought a moment, then cleared her throat. "If we're going to get to know one another then you ought to start by calling me Elizabeth."

Surprised, Cal nodded, grinning. "Sure I will...that is, if you'll call me Cal."

to be continued...


	28. Chapter 41

Chapter Forty-one

"I'm closin' up," Robert E. called as he heard footsteps approach the livery.

"It's me, Robert E.," Cal said. "Brought Mike's horse by. Can you shoe her when ya get a chance?"

Robert E. placed the horseshoe he had been pounding in a bucket of water and walked to Cal, wiping his hands on his apron. "Sure. I can have her done by...tomorrow afternoon, say?"

"Sounds good," Cal agreed, handing him the reins.

Robert E. ran his hand down Flash's neck. "She's a beauty." He led Flash into the coral, closing it tight behind her.

"She's small," Cal pointed out.

Robert E. shrugged. "She's a woman's horse."

"I s'pose," Cal murmured, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

"Somethin' else I can do for ya?" Robert E. asked, removing his apron.

"Robert E.," Cal began. He stopped, embarrassed. "What I mean to say is..."

Robert E. chuckled. "What?"

Cal brushed his hair behind his ears, ruffled by a warm spring wind. "I was only curious...I was wondering...well, how'd ya propose to Grace?"

Robert E.'s eyes twinkled. "Thinkin' of proposin' t' Dr. Mike?" he asked softly.

Cal blushed from ear to ear. "Well...I..."

"It's about time!" Robert E. laughed whole-heartedly. "I s'pose I'll help ya if I can."

Cal let out a relieved sigh. "Thanks, Robert. E."

Robert E. leaned against the coral fence. "Proposin', it ain't easy."

"Tell me about it," he agreed.

"What I did was made Grace a nice dinner, and we had champagne, and I slipped the ring in Grace's glass, and when she went t' take a sip, there it was." He chuckled. "Never seen that woman's eyes bigger."

Cal nodded. "All right, I can do that. Then what?"

"Then ya gotta say, 'will ya marry me', or 'will ya be my wife' or somethin' like that."

Cal sighed. "That's the hardest part."

"Do ya love her?" Robert E. asked.

Cal smiled. "I've always loved her."

"She love you?" Robert E. went on.

Cal nodded slowly. "Took her a long time to tell me, but yeah, she says she does."

"Then when the time is right, 'will ya marry me' is gonna roll right off your tongue," Robert E. said, patting his back. "…I bet she'll be sayin' yes."

Cal took a deep breath. "Thanks, Robert E. I sure hope so."

& & &

Michaela pulled back the curtains, a smile spreading across her lips. "Cal and Brian have organized a game of tag," she informed Dorothy and Grace.

Katie, Byron, and several other children their age were chasing around the front yard, giggling, shouting, and driving the chickens crazy.

"They seem to be gettin' along a lot better now," Dorothy remarked from the dining room table. "Cal and Brian."

Michaela nodded in agreement, joining her friends at the table. "Things have been better ever since Cal and I returned from Boston. Perhaps Brian needed that time to gather his thoughts. I think he's come to realize how much Cal's done for us, how much the younger children especially need him."

"Brian's a fine boy, Dr. Mike," Grace said, the chocolate cake in front of her and a pouch of yellow frosting in hand. "Practically a man."

"If only Sully could see the man he's become," Michaela murmured whimsically. "He'd be so proud."

Dorothy patted her hand. "He sees, Michaela. I'm sure he does."

"It'll be four years, next week," Michaela admitted. "Four years since..." Suddenly her eyes welled with tears.

"Oh, Michaela," Dorothy murmured sympathetically. "It must be hard, celebratin' Katie's birthday but then remembering all that happened 'round the same time."

"No, it's not that," Michaela admitted.

"Then what's the matter?" Grace queried.

"Nothing exactly," Michaela replied. She bit her lip. "Cal...last week...Cal and I had dinner together. Just a small Sunday dinner here. Nothing out of the ordinary. The children were in bed and we danced a little and...and-"

Dorothy smiled eagerly. "And?"

"Well he..." Michaela cleared her throat. "He proposed."

"Marriage?" Grace questioned.

Michaela let out an embarrassed, quiet laugh. "Marriage."

"Michaela!" Dorothy exclaimed. "That's-that's...wonderful!"

"And what'd ya say?" Grace prompted, all smiles.

"He wouldn't let me answer," Michaela exclaimed, "and truthfully I was speechless. It came as such a surprise--well, not completely a surprise but-...He wants me to think about it first, before I give him an answer."

"That sounds like a good idea," Dorothy remarked.

Grace couldn't contain her excitement. "Well? What're ya gonna answer?"

Michaela sighed. "I'm not entirely sure. I realize now Sully would want me to be happy, and I'm certain he wants the children to be the same." She hesitated. "I love Cal very much...but it's just--different. Sometimes I wonder if I can be...be everything he wants."

"Cal wouldn't of asked you to marry him if he wasn't sure," Dorothy told her.

"I suppose not," Michaela admitted. "I just don't want to enter into a marriage half-heartedly." She took a deep breath. "...I don't have the same feelings for Cal I had for Sully."

"You know it can't be the same, Michaela," Dorothy said gently. "And that's all right."

"It's hard, Dr. Mike, but ya can't be comparin' everything to what ya had before," Grace added. "Cal loves you and you love him. Bringing the past into it ain't fair to either of ya."

"But if your heart tells you not to marry him, then you shouldn't," Dorothy advised.

"No, I want to, it's just..." Michaela began, then trailed off.

Dorothy thought a moment. "You oughta visit the Reverend," she suggested. "He talks to lots of couples who wanna get married. Helps guide 'em through the bumps along the way. He might be able to help."

"Perhaps I'll do that," Michaela said, gazing at her folded hands dubiously. "He counseled Sully and I before we were married..."

Grace placed the pouch of frosting on the table and put her arm around her friend. "It'll be all right, Dr. Mike. Everything'll work out for the best."

Michaela gave them a small smile. "Thank you for being here, if only to listen. I needed that."

"Well, I don't know what you're here for, Grace, but I'm here for Katie's birthday cake," Dorothy teased.

Michaela took a step toward the cake, her eyes brightening. "That's beautiful, Grace," she said, pleased. "Thank you. Katie's going to love it." Grace had inscribed 'Happy 5th Birthday Katie' on the cake and made a few simple frosting flowers between the words.

Just then, the door burst open and Cal stepped in, carrying a panting but happy and giggling Byron.

Michaela immediately took him from Cal and seated him on the table. "Are you all right, darling? Do you feel an attack coming?" She glanced at her medical bag on the mantel.

"He's all right, Mike," Cal said reassuringly. "Just got a little out of breath is all. Thought he'd better rest for a bit."

"Mama, we are...playin'...chase!" Byron told her happily.

"Yes, I saw." She kissed his brow, then turned to Cal. "Grace finished frosting the cake while you were outside," she told him.

"It looks great," Cal said as he admired her work.

Michaela smiled. "Cal, will you call Katie and everyone else? We're ready for birthday cake."

"Yea!" Byron squealed as Cal headed out the door.

"I remember your last birthday, Byron," Dorothy said, tickling his chin. "You had more cake on your face than in that belly of yours!"

Byron giggled and hugged his mother's arm, looking up at her. "Mama...?"

"Yes?" Michaela prompted.

"Mama, when my bir-day gonna be? 'Morrow?"

"Quite awhile from now, I'm afraid," she admitted. "Next December, near Christmas."

"De-sam-ba?" Byron questioned.

Michaela chuckled, giving him a quick hug. "Don't you worry, sweetheart. It'll be here sooner than you think."

"...All wight," he reluctantly agreed.

Michaela picked him up and placed him in a chair as a concourse of four, five, and six-year-olds, led by Katie, herded through the front door and gathered around the dining room table.

"My cake!" Katie exclaimed, climbing up onto a chair and pointing.

"Do you like it, pumpkin?" Grace asked as she stuck five little candles into it and lit a match.

"Uh-huh," Katie said with a wide smile. The group commenced to sing "Happy Birthday", and when they had finished Katie squeezed her eyes shut, made a silent wish, then inhaled deeply and blew out her candles.

& & &

"This is the last of 'em," Cal said as he stepped up onto a stool and untacked a yellow streamer from the alcove between the kitchen and dining room.

Michaela reached up and took it from him, adding it to the pile of streamers and other scraps left over from the party she had been gathering on the table. "Katie wanted everything yellow for her party, except the chocolate cake," she remarked.

"I thought she liked purple," Cal said, stepping down from the stool.

"She used to. She likes yellow now," Michaela chuckled wryly.

"Typical five-year-old," Cal said with a smile.

"Mama!" Katie called plaintively from upstairs. "I'm ready now. Tuck me in!"

Michaela glanced upstairs. "That's my cue."

"Well, then, I'll say goodnight," Cal said, stepping toward her and giving her a hug.

"Cal," Michaela said as he went to pull away. She held him against her, keeping him still. "I want you to know I've been thinking about our dinner last Sunday."

Cal felt his heart flutter. "You have?"

Michaela kissed his cheek. "Of course I have." She rubbed his back. "And I just want you to understand that-"

"Mama!" Katie called.

"Coming," Michaela called back. She cleared her throat. "Cal, you know I love you very much, but I want you to realize I have children that need me-"

"I know that, Mike," Cal said, squeezing her hands. "I'm gonna be here for them, too."

"If we--you'd not only be marrying me, but my children, too," Michaela told him gently.

Cal gave her a soft kiss. "Yep, that sounds like who I want to marry."

Michaela couldn't help but smile, then opened the door for him. "Goodnight."

"Night," he said softly, removing his hat from the hook and heading out the door.

& & &

"Where will you live? Will you be moving?" the Reverend asked, gripping his walking stick as he stood in front of Michaela seated on the front pew of the church.

"Well, Cal's talked about building a small house in town behind his streetcar business, but we can't afford that at the moment," Michaela replied. "I suppose we would be living at the homestead for a time."

"Cal's all right with that?" the Reverend asked. "He's comfortable livin' in the same house you lived in with Sully?"

"I don't think he minds. At least he hasn't said anything." She thought a moment. "Though it's possible he might be uncomfortable..."

"And you're all right with eventually moving into town with him?"

Michaela hesitated. "I suppose I'd miss the homestead—but I'd be so close to the clinic, and the children to school, and Cal to his streetcars. 'Right at the center of things', Cal says."

The Reverend nodded slowly. "You an' Cal have talked this all over many a time it sounds. That's a good thing, Dr. Mike. Communication is key to building a strong, successful marriage."

"Do you think we could build a successful marriage, Reverend?" Michaela asked softly.

The Reverend stroked his beard. "I think you and Cal have many things in your favor, but whether or not you can make things work is up to the two of you. Marriage is a conscious decision, Dr. Mike, as you know. It's based not only on love, which you and Cal clearly share, but also a willingness to weather both the good and the bad."

"I want Cal to know I want to be by his side for the good and the bad," Michaela told him. "Forever."

The Reverend smiled. "Then you're talkin' to the wrong person. Dr. Mike, God's brought another special man into your life and into that of your children. It's a blessin'. I'm sure you're all gonna be very happy."

Michaela remained silent.

"Something wrong?" the Reverend asked after a moment.

Michaela quickly smiled. "No." She stood up and took his hand. "Thank you so much. I truly appreciate this."

"You're very welcome," the Reverend said, squeezing her hand.

Michaela turned to leave, then suddenly reverted. "Reverend? If—when we decide on a date...would you do Cal and I the honoring of marrying us? Nothing too fancy. Just a simple ceremony with our family and closest friends."

He chuckled. "I'd be glad to, Dr. Mike. It'd be my pleasure."

& & &

"Five years old, can you believe it, Sully?" Michaela spoke as she knelt beside her husband's marker in the quiet graveyard. "You wouldn't recognize her now. She's grown into such a beautiful little lady." She laid a small bouquet of wildflowers on the ground, letting out a soft sigh. "Cal...Cal's asked for my hand." She paused, as if waiting for a response. A warm tear slipped down her cheek. "Darling, I've loved you since the moment we first met, and I'll always love you with all my heart and soul...but the children so need a father, and Cal is a good man, and I-I've found I need him more than I ever expected." She tenderly ran her hand down the cross. "I think about you every single day, I think about you every time I look into the eyes of our children. But I very much feel it's the right time to do this, to marry Cal. It's right for the children, and it feels right for me, too." She cleared her throat. "Don't you think?" she whispered.

A cool breeze abruptly stole up, ruffling Michaela's hair and creeping through the thin fabric of her blouse. "Sully?" she whispered hoarsely, rubbing her arms to keep away the chill. "Promise me I won't lose you if I marry Cal. Please, Sully. Please..."

& & &

"I got ya!" Katie squealed, placing her red checker atop her older brother's black checker.

Brian chuckled. "That's good, Kate, but jump over my checker, all right? Not &on& it." He helped her place her game piece on the correct square and then gave her his. "See, you're catching on. You're catching on real fast."

Byron shifted closer to the board, eyeing it curiously, his stuffed puppy cradled in one arm. "I play now?" he asked once again.

"Byron," Michaela called from the wingback chair, a slight air of impatience in her voice. "Come sit over here and let your brother and sister play their game."

Byron shook his head. "No, I watch," he insisted.

Michaela resumed her knitting with a soft sigh.

Like clockwork, a minute later Byron stretched his hand across the board and picked up one of Katie's checkers.

"No!" Katie immediately shouted.

"No, B. You're too little," Brian scolded gently, pulling his hand away. "This game's for big kids, and just for two people." He didn't want to hurt his brother's feelings, but the child had been stubborn and insistent all day, and it was wearing on his patience as well.

"I'm not wittle!" Byron retorted defensively.

"Uh-huh," Katie informed him. "You are three but I am &five&."

Byron crossed his arms angrily. "Cal lets me play! Cal say I big!"

"Children, come here," Michaela called, placing her knitting in the basket at her feet.

"But-" Brian began.

Michaela gave him a pleading gaze. "Let's put aside the checker board for awhile and talk."

Reluctantly, Katie rose from the cushion on the floor. "'Bout what?" She sat cross-legged at the foot of the chair and cuddled against Michaela's legs.

Byron crawled up into his mother's lap. "'Bout what?" he echoed.

Brian slowly put the checker pieces in their wooden box. He had a feeling he knew what was coming.

Michaela cleared her throat. "You know, Byron, speaking of Cal—you know that he and I have become very good friends," she began.

"He's fun," Katie spoke up.

"I get to call him Cal," Byron added.

Michaela stroked her son's hair. "I know, and I'm glad you like him. Cal and I-" She paused, drawing in her breath. "Cal asked me to marry him…I've decided I'm going to accept—I'm going to tell him yes." She glanced anxiously at each child, waiting for a reaction.

Katie clutched the ends of Michaela's skirts. "Then...he's my new papa?"

"...In a way," Michaela murmured, smiling down at her reassuringly. "But Mama's first husband—your real Papa—he'll always be watching over you from up in heaven. Mr. Brooks could be your papa here on earth."

"Do I call him Papa?" Katie asked.

"Papa," Byron experimented.

Michaela took a deep breath. As much as she loved Cal, she wasn't sure if she wanted to hear her children addressing someone other than Sully as 'Papa'. She remembered how that had turned out last Christmas when Byron had confused Cal for his father. "If you'd like, Katie, and if you ask Cal. But perhaps you may prefer to call him what you've always called him."

"You'd best call him Cal, Katie," Brian spoke up, not taking his eyes away from the checkers. "He ain't our pa."

"Cal," Katie said, striving to please her older brother.

"After we're married, we're going to live here for a time," Michaela told them, happy things seemed to be going well so far. "Then when we've saved enough, Cal will build us all a new house in town, behind his streetcar business."

"A new house? Why do we gotta move?" Brian demanded, standing up.

Michaela glanced at him. "Brian, Sully and I lived here. This is where we built our memories. Now that Cal and I are going to be married, we need a place of our own. We'll have memories in our new home."

"I don't wanna leave my toys, Mama," Katie spoke. "I'll miss my room."

"You can bring your toys to the bedroom you'll have in our new home," Michaela assured her. "And your brothers will share a room."

"And you and Cal'll share a bed," Brian said dryly. He had said it to hurt his mother, and succeeded. He immediately regretted it.

"Brian!" Michaela exclaimed, shocked. She stared at him, eyes filled with tears.

Brian stared back for a moment, then silently retreated upstairs, head bent.

Katie tapped her chin. "Mama, is Cal 'fraid of the dark?" she asked innocently.

"Why, no, Katie," Michaela replied, confused. "What makes you ask that?"

"Why's he gotta sleep with you then? What he is 'friad of?"

Michaela felt her cheeks warm as she cleared her throat. "Come, sit on my lap," she invited.

Katie crawled up next to her brother, resting her head on her mother's shoulder.

"Do you understand what it means to marry someone?" Michaela asked.

"Married's when you get a new papa," Katie told her.

"Yes, sometimes," her mother admitted.

"Cal is my new papa and it not pwetend," Byron put in.

"Married also means that Cal and I love each other," Michaela went on. "He'll live with us and always be good to us. We'll share with him: our meals, the chores, the horses, and many other things. And Cal and Mommy, we'll share things as well."

"Shawe toys?" Byron remarked, repeating what his mother so often told him.

"Share...you gonna share my toys with him, Mama?" Katie asked, confused.

Michaela cleared her throat. "Well, not exactly...you might see Cal and I kiss or hug a little more, especially when Cal leaves for work in the morning, and when he comes home in the evening. And at nighttime we'll sleep in my bedroom."

"Why?" Byron asked.

Michaela stroked his hair behind his ears. "Well, because...because married people like time alone together to love one another. Time alone is very important, but of course only if you're married. Being alone is strictly for married people--but most other times we want to be with all of you...Um, do you understand?"

Byron stared at her hopelessly perplexed.

"That means ya kiss some more?" Katie determined.

Michaela's embarrassment deepened. "Yes that's exactly it...but I'll never, ever stop loving you with all my heart." She tapped Byron's nose. "And you, too, sweetheart."

The little boy giggled and curled up tighter in her arms, eyes drooping tiredly.

"And if either of you are ever upset, or unhappy, or if you have a question about something, you can come straight to me."

"We're not getting a new mama, are we?" Katie asked, taking her mother's hand.

"No, sweetheart," Michaela murmured, tears coming to her eyes. "I'll be here for you, I promise. You'll always be the most important people in my life." She kissed each of their heads. "I love you both so much."

& & &

Michaela knocked on her son's half-open door, waited a moment, and then entered. Brian was lying on his stomach on his bed, ankles crossed and in the air, his chin resting in his hands.

She sat on his bed. "...I'm sorry you're upset."

He closed his eyes. "This'll be my third pa."

"You don't have to call him 'pa', Brian," she assured him. "You don't even have to call him 'Cal'. 'Mr. Brooks' will do just fine."

He shook his head. "That ain't botherin' me," he murmured.

"I want to understand," she pleaded, stroking his hair.

Brian shrugged. "Cal...he's all right. He's good at baseball, fishin'...he's nice to me..."

"But he's not your pa," she admitted. "We can't expect him to be. We'll never forget Sully, we'll treasure the time we had with him...but I've come to realize that the past can't haunt us forever. I want us to try to start anew...with Cal. I wish for us to try to be happy again."

Brian turned to his side, propping up on one elbow. "Ma, how do you know...well, how do you know Sully won't be mad...about you marryin' again?"

She smiled softly, recalling the memory. "Because we talked about the future, prepared for it. Sully and I talked about what we wanted if one or the other of us couldn't be here."

He was surprised. "Ya did?"

"Hm-mm. Sully told me, if ever he had to leave us, he'd want me to try to find love again and to try to find someone to love you and Katie as well. He told me he'd want me to be happy. And I wanted the same for him. I'm certain if Sully were here, he would approve of Cal."

"I want ya to be happy, Ma," Brian whispered, tears trickling down his cheeks. He sat up, and she took him in her arms, holding him tight. "It hurt so bad seeing ya cryin' for Sully for so long, like ya'd never be able to smile again. I hated it when ya wore black all the time, and slept all the time, and didn't wanna hold B. when he was just a little baby. Ya acted like ya didn't even like him all that much. An' ya didn't wanna do anything or have any fun anymore. I got scared things would never change, that ya'd be sad forever, and that I would be, too."

"I'm so sorry, Brian," she choked out. "I hope with all my heart that sadness is in the past, and that this change will only bring us happiness. This is going to be a big change for all of us, and for Cal, too. We'll have to be patient and try to be kind to one another. We need to give each other a chance."

"I will, Ma," he promised. "I'll do my best t' be nice t' him. He's awful nice t' all of us."

She nodded. "You know in an instant I would bring your pa back."

"But ya can't," he told her, sniffling. "So we gotta make do with how things are now."

She took a deep breath. "You sound just like Sully. I'm so proud of you, Brian."

He nodded stiffly. "I've...I've been the man of the house, since Sully's been gone. I've tried real hard to watch over things for him. He would have wanted me to."

"Oh, sweetheart," Michaela murmured. "I so very much appreciate that, especially when Sully was first gone and times were so difficult. I've always been able to count on you. Nothing's going to change, Brian. I still need you very much, especially to help me with the younger children."

"Cal can do that," Brian whispered. "He's good with 'em."

"Yes he is," Michaela admitted. "Katie and Byron need him in many ways, but in different ways they need you and me just as much. We're their closest link to their father. I want them to know Sully, Brian, as best they can without ever meeting him of course. I'm marrying Cal, but that doesn't mean I want Sully to be forgotten." She kissed his head. "Cal isn't taking anyone's place, I promise you." She paused. "And I hope someday...perhaps you and he can be friends."

He pulled back, digesting her words. At last he gave a faint smile and kissed her cheek. "I'd best turn in...I love ya, Ma."

"I love you, Brian," she murmured, cupping his cheek in her hand. "Always."

to be continued...


	29. Chapter 42

Chapter Forty-two

Cal burst into a contented grin as he observed Michaela sitting on the porch bench of his streetcar business, a picnic basket in her lap. He watched her face mirror his grin as she noticed him approaching and stood up, shielding her eyes from the sun. He gave his horse another flick of the reins, pulling the buggy to the front of the building and then slowing it to a stop.

"I was hoping you wouldn't skip lunch today," Michaela said. "You've been so busy."

He hopped down from the buggy and tied the rope to the hitching post. "I didn't realize it was gonna be this much work getting a business off the ground. I know it's only been a month or so but...I have a feeling it's going to do well, Mike. I really think it will. Now it's just gonna be me running it for awhile, but once things get going I'll hire a couple more men to drive a couple more buggies, and I won't have to do all the driving myself. I can be in the office and keep the books half the time. That's what's slowing me down: having to do all the driving and keep the records, too-"

Michaela interrupted him with a kiss. "I'm worried about you. You work so hard. You're not getting enough rest I suspect."

He sighed. "I just want it to work. I don't wanna fail at this. I need something steady. Something to support me..." He trailed off. And support his family. That is, if Michaela agreed to marry him. He glanced quickly at her, but she hadn't seemed to have picked up on it, and if she had, well, she hadn't made it noticeable.

"Then you don't have time to stop for lunch?" Michaela asked, a slight pout forming across her lips.

"Ya made me lunch?" he asked, glancing at the picnic basket.

"I made &us& lunch," Michaela corrected.

"That's sweet, Mike." He took her hand and kissed it. "I could never pass that up."

"Shall we make it a true picnic? In the meadow?" Michaela asked.

"The meadow it is then," he chuckled, helping her into the buggy.

Michaela ran her hand across the elaborate gold lettering on the side of the black buggy Cal had spent hours painting to perfection. "'Brooks Streetcars'," she read aloud.

"Brooks &Streetcar&," Cal corrected wryly, taking the reins.

Michaela smiled and looped her hands about his arm. "All businesses start small, and from there they can only grow. I'm so proud of you, Cal. You took an idea that might have seemed impossible to some and turned it into reality single-handedly."

He sighed, happily this time. "Not exactly single-handedly, Mike." He caressed her knee warmly. "You've been by my side all the way."

"And that's exactly where I want to be," Michaela replied.

& & &

Cal bit into his ham sandwich, eyeing Michaela as he chewed and swallowed. "You ain't saying much," he remarked. He nodded at her plate of practically untouched food. "You ain't eating much either," he added.

"Hm?" Michaela replied suddenly, startled out of her reverie.

"You ain't eating," he repeated. He looked into her eyes. "What're ya thinking?"

Michaela cleared her throat. "There's this patient of mine," she stammered, "and she has two young boys Katie and Byron's age. I-I've been giving out small pox vaccinations to all the new families in town, and when I tried to schedule an appointment for the three of them, she adamantly declined. I just can't believe in this day in age people continue to refuse what has been proven time and again to save lives."

Cal snickered.

"You find this amusing?" Michaela questioned, put out.

"No, of course not, but what are ya really thinking?" he replied discerningly.

Michaela sighed deeply. Once again, it had proven useless to try to mask her emotions in front of Cal. "...Yes," she said quickly.

He coughed, nearly choking on his pickle. "Yes? Yes what?"

"Yes..." she repeated, "I'll marry you, Cal."

He laughed. "Oh gosh, Mike. Yes?" he echoed.

"That's not how I planned this at all," Michaela told him, frustrated with herself. "I'm sorry. I wanted us to have a special dinner but I'm not very good at cooking special dinners. I can make stew, but that doesn't travel very well in a picnic basket. I should have asked Grace to prepare something for us."

"Ham sandwiches and pickles suit me just fine," Cal said.

"And I was going to tell you how much you mean to me," Michaela went on softly, "how I don't think I would be here today if it weren't for you, how you've turned my life around, how much the children love you...and how much I love you." Suddenly her eyes filled with tears. She reached for his hands and squeezed them tight. "Cal, I love you more than I ever thought possible, and I can't imagine living the rest of my life without you...I want nothing more than to be your wife."

He took her in his arms and held her close. "I dreamed of ya saying that," he whispered. "Ya really want to marry me, Mike?"

"With all my heart," she affirmed. "Thank you for giving me the time I needed to realize that. Thank you for waiting for me."

"That waiting was the easy part," he teased lightly. "Now we gotta wait for the wedding." His tone grew gentle and soft. "I want us to be together as husband and wife. Let's get married soon." He pulled back to look her in the eyes.

"How soon is 'soon'?" Michaela asked shyly.

"Well, we gotta tell your family back in Boston, and my family, and give 'em time to make plans to come down here...it's May now so..."

"July?" Michaela suggested.

"July sounds good to me," Cal said, gently stroking her cheek. "Before the Fourth of July or after? Colorado's gonna be a state this summer, ya know. And it's the Centennial to boot."

"Perhaps right after?" Michaela said. "Our families could come for the Centennial celebration, and then stay for our wedding."

"That'd be perfect. That's all I want to come from my side, Mike," he told her, "just my ma and my sister and the girls. It doesn't have to be anything too big, so long as we get married."

"I feel the same way," she responded.

"Are the kids...are they all right with this?" he asked hesitantly.

"They're more than all right with it," Michaela told him, smiling. "They were...full of questions...but they're happy."

"Brian, too?" he pressed.

Michaela nodded. "He and I had a nice talk. Everything's going to be fine, Cal."

"Mike, I think I want to ask Brian if he'd like to stand up with me at the wedding. Be a best man of sorts."

"He's awfully young to be a best man," she pointed out.

"I know, but I want him to feel a part of it, that is if he wants. And besides, who says he's too young?" He tickled her chin.

She chuckled. "You're right." She thought a moment. "Then I want to ask Matthew to walk me down the aisle. And Katie and Byron are perfect for flower girl and ring bearer. Oh, they'll be so adorable. I spoke with the Reverend. He said he'll marry us in the church if we'd like."

Cal glanced around the meadow. "How 'bout out here? It's so beautiful, and it'll be summer-" He squeezed her hand. "What's the matter?"

"I'd rather have it in the church," she explained. She couldn't avoid his questioning gaze. "Cal...Sully and I were married here in the—in the meadow. I'm sorry."

He nodded. "All right, in the church, then. Ya got no reason to be sorry." He felt the awkwardness in the air, and gave her a comforting hug. "If anything, anything at all is bothering ya, you tell me, all right? Never feel like ya can't." He kissed her cheek lovingly.

She drew in her breath. "If that's the case then I suppose I need to ask you something. Don't be afraid to answer honestly."

"What is it?" he questioned.

She took a deep breath. "Do you mind living at the homestead for a time? We can wait to be married until we can afford a house if you'd rather not, because I understand what you might be feeling. Believe me I do."

He bent his head, gathering his thoughts. "The truth?"

"Yes," she affirmed.

He tenderly brushed a stray hair back from her brow. "Michaela, the truth is there's nothing more important to me than being with you. Anyone can see how much Sully loved ya just by looking at those walls. It makes me want to be the best husband I can be for you, and the best man I can be to the kids so that he can...so Sully can rest easy. And someday, someday soon, I'm gonna do what he did, and build us a house in town you'll be proud of. I want to give ya everything, darlin'."

Michaela could do nothing but smile softly at Cal's heartfelt words.

Suddenly, his eyes widened. "Your ring," he murmured.

"My ring?" Michaela repeated.

He dug around in the inside pocket of his vest. "I-I haven't wanted to let it out of my sight. I've been so worried about it the only place I could think where it would be safe is right on me." At last he produced a small black velvet box. Shyly, he opened it and removed a simple but attractive gold and diamond ring. "It ain't much, but it's a ring," he said.

"Cal," Michaela breathed. "Oh, you didn't have to do this. Your streetcar business—we could have done without-"

"I wanted to," he replied. "'Sides, we gotta make it official. My ma always said an engagement isn't an engagement without a ring." He took her hand in his. "Now we can do things proper." He took a deep breath. "Michaela...will you be my wife?"

Michaela knew she would always remember the warmth and sincerity in Cal's eyes at that moment. The Reverend was right. To find love for a second time with a man who cared so deeply for her was truly a blessing.

"Yes," she whispered breathlessly.

Smiling widely, Cal slipped the ring on her finger, gazed at it with slight wonderment for a few seconds, then kissed her, conveying all that he felt in his heart with his tender touch.

"You're right, it is a dream," she whispered at last, hugging him to her.

Cal held her tighter. "I love you so much," he whispered against her ear.

"I love you, too," Michaela replied tearfully.

& & &

"This is Cal," Michaela told her daughter proudly, shifting Byron higher on her hip.

"The famous Cal," Colleen said, smilingly broadly, "I'm so glad to finally meet you."

"Likewise," he replied as Colleen gave him an unexpected but sweet kiss on the cheek.

"That train goes choo-choo!" Byron informed the gathering, fascinated by the steaming engine, the bustling passengers, and the several porters, hands full with luggage.

Colleen tickled her little brother's chest. "Oh, I've missed you, Byron." In response he giggled and buried his head shyly against Michaela's shoulder.

"We've all missed you, too," Brian said, happy his sister was finally back home.

"Cal and Mama are getting married," Katie spoke up, tugging on the sleeve of her older sister's traveling gown.

Colleen grinned, patting Katie's head. "So I've heard. I'm so glad I can be here for the wedding."

"Married means you kiss some more and Cal lives with us," Katie added bluntly.

"&Katie&," Michaela said sternly, but everyone else was smiling and chuckling softly.

Cal put his arm around Michaela's waist and gave her a quick squeeze. "Let's take Colleen to Grace's, have a little welcome home party over some pie and coffee?" He took Byron from her and put him on his shoulders. "You want a ride, little guy?"

"Me, too. I'm riding next," Katie spoke up, grasping the tail of Cal's coat with one hand and Brian's hand with the other.

"We'll be right behind you," Michaela told them.

"Ma it's...it's just wonderful!" Colleen exclaimed once she and Michaela were alone. She looped her arm through her mother's and they began strolling towards Grace's. "Tell me everything. How he asked, and what sort of wedding you've planned, and the honeymoon—oh, what are you wearing?"

"Well, I'm not sure," Michaela replied, somewhat embarrassed. "Not white of course, but not anything too dark. Something simple. We thought perhaps blue."

"Don't worry," Colleen assured her, "we'll find something that'll look beautiful on you."

"You'll be a bridesmaid, won't you, Colleen?" Michaela asked.

"Oh, Ma, I'd love to," Colleen replied with a smile. "...They're coming aren't they? Grandma and everybody?"

"Cal and I sent out invitations last week," Michaela assured her. "I hope Mother will come, and I know your aunts will at least try. Oh, and Cal's mother, sister, and nieces are visiting next week for the Fourth. Cal wired them and they made plans that very day. You'll like them. They're all very pleasant."

"He's &handsome&, Ma," Colleen giggled girlishly.

Michaela felt her cheeks warm. "You think so?"

"I do," Colleen replied. "And I'm sure he's just as wonderful as you've described. Byron and Katie love him," she noted.

"Yes," Michaela admitted. "...They so need someone like him, a father of sorts. I can't believe they'll actually have one now, or at least someone close."

"Welcome home, Colleen," one of the townsfolk called on her way to the post office.

"Thank you," Colleen replied happily. "It's good to be back."

"As for the honeymoon-" Michaela began.

"Where are you makin' plans to go?" Colleen pressed excitedly

Michaela sombered. "Actually, Colleen, we talked it over and we decided we're going to have to forego the honeymoon for now."

"Forego?" Colleen echoed. "Why? Ma, it's your honeymoon!"

"I know, but things are so tight right now, what with Cal's business just starting up. It's going to be a little while before he can turn a profit. He's like Sully. He doesn't want me paying for it, at least not all of it. As it is I'm not making as much as I used to...I like to be home for Byron and Katie more often, while they're still so young. Andrew runs the clinic when I take the occasional day off."

"There's gotta be a way to take a small trip you can afford," Colleen insisted. "Denver, maybe? It's only a train-ride away."

"We can't go to Denver, Colleen," Michaela murmured. "Sully and I went there. I wouldn't...I wouldn't feel right about it. I want this wedding to be completely different."

"I understand," Colleen admitted.

"Cal says someday we'll have our honeymoon," she said. "He always talked about taking me to England where he went to boarding school. We're going to save a little bit at a time and someday we'll go."

"You will, Ma," Colleen assured her, feeling a little better.

She and Michaela walked in contented silence for a dozen or so paces, and at last Colleen took a deep breath. "Ma, I know I haven't been back here very often, and I'm real sorry about that-"

"Don't even think of apologizing," Michaela scolded. "We miss you dearly of course, but you've had so many wonderful opportunities."

Colleen nodded reluctantly and took a deep breath. "Brian and Matthew, you know they write me just as often as you, tell me the news. Even Katie's started writing a little now that she's in school." She hesitated. "The point is, I know things weren't good after Pa..."

Michaela swallowed hard. "Yes."

"...This is the first time I've come home since before when Pa with us and felt like...like things are back to normal. All of you wavin' and smilin' as the train pulled in, Brian and Katie and Byron all a few inches taller, everybody glad we're all back together again."

"That's largely because of Cal," Michaela told her softly. "I can't tell you all he's done for us. I think you're going to like him."

Colleen smiled. "I already do, Ma."

& & &

"We should delegate the responsibilities equally amongst several members of the town," Michaela suggested from her seat on the town council. "If we put one man in charge there's a risk that things won't be ready in time for the celebration."

"Dr. Mike's right," put in Horace. "We gotta divide up everythin' that needs to be done. We only got a week left."

"But surely you'll agree, Michaela, that skillful leadership breads success," spoke up Preston, rising to his feet from the crowd of townsfolk in attendance. "We're talking about the reputation of our fine town here."

"We do this right," Jake added, "and folks'll be talkin' about it for years." He pointed the handle of his gavel at his chest. "Now as mayor I appoint me and Hank in charge of the final preparations for the Colorado Springs Statehood and Centennial Celebration. That means we'll...we'll be the ones to...to-"

"Delegate," Loren whispered, leaning towards him.

"Yeah--me and Hank are gonna delegate who does what," Jake finished.

"Hank?" Michaela questioned amid disgruntled muttering from the women in the crowd.

"We got the fireworks," drawled Hank from the back row.

"And that's another thing," Michaela said tersely. "I don't like the idea of a storeroom filled with boxes upon boxes of fireworks."

"Neither do I," the Reverend added.

"Aw, it's just a little closet in the back room of the Nugget," Jake explained.

"And what if it catches fire?" Michaela demanded.

"Dr. Mike," Jake replied wearily, "you and Colleen and Dr. Cook'll be in charge of makin' sure nobody comes down sick in time for the Centennial, and let us take care of the fireworks."

"I'll help with advertising," Dorothy spoke from a church pew beside Brian, each with a notebook and pencil in hand.

"And Robert E. and I'll make the lemonade," said Grace.

"I s'pose I can chip in the lemons," grumbled Loren. "No charge."

Teresa stood up shyly. "I have ordered a new map from Philadelphia of the country, that will have Colorado as a state. The children and I will hang it in the school house the day of the celebration."

"The sewin' circle could stitch a new flag," Dorothy spoke up, "with thiry-eight stars, one more for us."

"And I'll open my hot springs to the public on that day," Preston spoke up.

"Half price for a streetcar ride," Cal offered.

"You see, when we pull together everything works out," Michaela spoke. "It will not only be a day to celebrate, but to gather together as a community, in friendship and brotherhood, epitomizing the basis on which the country we are about to officially become a part of was built on."

"Well said, my dear!" spoke Camille Brooks from the back of the room.

"I agree!" added Elizabeth.

"Momma?" Cal uttered hoarsely as he turned around, mouth agape.

"Mother," Michaela murmured, a relieved smile spreading across her face.

to be continued...


	30. Chapter 43

Chapter Forty-three

"Momma, I thought you weren't coming until this afternoon!" Cal said, giving Camille a warm hug. The four stepped down the church stairs as the council meeting adjourned and the townsfolk disbanded.

"We were, but we've been ahead of schedule the entire journey south," Camille explained, all smiles. "I said we ought to wire you, but Caroline convinced me a surprise would be absolutely sinful, so here we are!" Her cheeks glowed with happiness.

"I didn't think you would be able to come at all, Mother," Michaela spoke up, the tone in her voice more curious than accusing.

"Of course I've come. My daughter's getting married," Elizabeth retorted. "I can't very well miss that." She opened her parasol to shield herself from the summer sun. "Everyone is waiting in the café for us."

"I thought we'd gotten the wrong town," Camille said, taking her son's arm. "It seemed there was hardly a soul to be found! Yes, fortunately we came across that charming Negro woman, who kindly directed us to the church."

"That's Grace," Cal told her. "Robert E., her husband, he's gonna be my best man. He and Brian."

"Is that so?" Camille breathed, surprised though not offended. After all she had been an avid supporter of the abolitionists in her day. "Isn't that interesting."

Elizabeth let loose a sigh. "Anything goes in this town, Mrs. Brooks, you'll soon discover."

"Have you two met?" Michaela asked, glancing between her mother and Camille. "I'm sorry, we haven't formally introduced you."

"Have we met!" Camille cried. "One would think we're old friends now! Come, Michaela. We'll dine in your little restaurant with the others and tell you all about it."

"Who's here?" Cal asked eagerly. "Caroline, Momma?"

She squeezed his arm. "Yes, she and the girls. And two of Michaela's sisters have come. Marjorie and Rebecca. Isn't it exciting, Cal? The two of you about to be married and all of us here to see it." She turned to Michaela and took her hand. "We're only here to help things run more smoothly, my dear. We'll assist you with anything you need. Just ask."

"Thank you so much, Camille," Michaela said gratefully.

"Michaela, can you believe it? You're going to be my daughter!" Camille exclaimed, squeezing her hand.

Cal beamed at a clearly unmoved Elizabeth. "And I'm gonna be your son. Should I start calling ya 'Ma'?" He felt Michaela pinch his arm, and immediately quieted.

"Oh, think of it, Elizabeth," Camille went on giddily. "It's going to be just wonderful."

"Wonderful," Elizabeth muttered, unable to suppress a grimace. "Wonderful indeed."

& & &

"And so there we were, for almost the entire journey from St. Louis to Colorado, having little idea who the other was," Caroline explained over coffee at Grace's.

"We had a delightful conversation," added Rebecca, a shy though curious Byron in her lap, sizing up each of the unfamiliar visitors, "and as we began to put the pieces together we realized we were traveling to the same wedding!"

"We did a little exchanging of seats," Caroline went on, "and soon the four of us were seated next to the three Quinns, and we had a marvelous time the remainder of the trip."

Rose turned in her mother's lap, an elated expression across her face, and signed rapidly and enthusiastically.

"Rose wants everyone to know she saw a cow out her train window," Caroline chuckled, giving her daughter a squeeze.

"What's she doing, Mama?" Katie asked inquisitively, pressing a finger to her chin.

Michaela put her arm around her daughter. "Rose can't hear, Katie, so she speaks with her hands. Each gesture she makes stands for a different word."

"Michaela, you won't believe how fast she's learning," Caroline said proudly. "I can barely keep up with her!"

"It's awfully peculiar," Marjorie put in. "One's hands should be kept in one's lap."

"Yes, I must confess it makes me nervous," Elizabeth said, her coffee untouched.

"I think it's quite fascinating," Rebecca said firmly. "Michaela, Caroline tells us you were the one that insisted she attend a special school."

"Yes, we owe it all to you," Caroline said somewhat tearfully, reaching across the table to take Michaela's hand. "Rose has never been happier."

"That's all I wanted," Michaela said modestly, "for Rose to be happy."

"Can I learn it?" Katie asked, unable to stop staring at the little girl so close to her in age.

"Rose and I could teach you a few words, Miss Katie," Caroline offered. "I'm sure she would love the chance to get to know you. After all, you're going to be cousins!"

"I'll help Katie learn, too," spoke up Annabelle. "I've never had a cousin before."

"I think our girls are going to get along just swimmingly, Michaela," Caroline said.

Brian sat quietly beside Michaela, digesting it all in much the same way as his little brother. "I'm gonna be the best man with Robert E.," he spoke up quietly. "Cal asked me to."

"Sure did," Cal affirmed, patting Brian's back assuringly.

At first, Brian had been reluctant to accept Cal's request, but he had warmed to the idea over the past several weeks. For the first time since before Cal and Ma had started to court, he'd sat down with Cal and they'd had a long talk. They were taking a break from the chores to have a cool drink of lemonade, and suddenly Cal had brought up wanting Brian to be his best man. Brian had opened up a little about Sully, about how much it still hurt, how he was afraid of upsetting his ma if he told her he was still grieving inside, and how much he missed the little things he and his pa had always done together. Brian missed the walks they used to take to see the new deer in the Spring, practicing with Sully's tomahawk, making trips to the Reservation, building things together with Sully's tools, and coming to him when he wasn't sure what to say or do when a girl caught his eye. He told Cal feelings he'd been keeping to himself since his pa's death. It felt good, having a man to talk to. Not that Ma was someone he couldn't confide in, but it was just different. Cal said he knew he wasn't going to be replacing Sully, but that he would always be there for Brian, that he could come to him with anything that was on his mind. Afterward, Brian felt better about Cal. It would be nice to have someone he could go to about things that were just plain uncomfortable to say to Ma. It'd be nice to see everyone happy, too, that was for sure. He was looking forward to the wedding now, at least a little bit. And it &was& kinda exciting, getting new cousins.

"You're going to be a wonderful best man," Rebecca said.

Marjorie couldn't help but let a grin escape. "Yes you will, Brian."

Bravely, Byron took a deep breath. "I gonna be wing bear. Grr." When everyone burst into chuckles his lip trembled and he looked to his mother for support.

"Ring &bearer&, sweetheart," Michaela corrected, patting his hand.

"And you will be a &handsome& ring bearer, Mr. Sully!" Rebecca said, giving her timid nephew a reassuring squeeze.

"He's adorable, Michaela!" Camille said. "They're all absolutely adorable. I'm so glad we can all be together for the wedding."

"The wedding!" Caroline uttered. "On the train we made a list of all that needs to be done in such a short time. The Quinns and Mother and I."

Rebecca produced the list and placed it on the table for all to see. "Now I know it looks lengthy, Michaela, but we're going to help you take care of everything."

"To start, we thought we might all going to Denver tomorrow morning, if it's all right with you," Marjorie said.

"Denver? Tomorrow?" Cal questioned.

"For fittings. Don't worry, we've arranged it all," Camille said. "I know a tailor there, an old friend of you father's who relocated his business to Denver when you were just a little boy, Cal. I took the liberty of making an appointment for all the men. And Michaela, while they're busy with that we can help you find a wedding gown."

"But remember, this is your wedding," Rebecca spoke up. "You tell us what you'd like and we'll take care of it."

"We were thinking something blue," Michaela said.

"Oh, that would be wonderful," Camille breathed. "We could put baby's breath in your hair. You'd look simply gorgeous."

"I happen to love baby's breath," Michaela replied. She felt Cal's hand come to rest on her knee, squeezing it lovingly.

Elizabeth gave another sigh. She should be the one coordinating the wedding arrangements, not Camille, though she hadn't exactly made an effort to stand up and take charge. Everyone was utterly ecstatic over the impending wedding, and that irritated her. Had they paused to even consider the reality of what was about to take place? They seemed to be unaware that though the glowing pair before them were clearly in love, the consequences should they carry through with the nuptials could be disastrous. Among other things her daughter was marrying another penniless eccentric, with hopes of ever bettering her situation out the window, and Camille's son was about to become responsible for a widow and her five children. &Elizabeth's& grandchildren. Surely, Michaela and Cal had no idea what they were getting into. Elizabeth paused. She had to admit Cal had grown on her over his visit to Boston. Just as Michaela had always insisted, he was a kind, dependable, sincere man. She tried to remember that love conquers all, supposedly, but that was easier said than done when it involved her beloved daughter. She cleared her throat, deciding she was going to make a real effort this time. "You'd look beautiful in blue, Michaela," she said softly. "If my opinion matters."

Michaela stared surprised for a moment, then smiled. "It matters very much, Mother. Very much."

& & &

Whimpering softly but resolutely, ten-day-old Patrick Evans kicked his legs unhappily as Michaela stripped him down to his diaper.

"He wakes every two or three hours," Mrs. Evans remarked, a slightly uncertain but very blissful new mother. She stood beside Michaela and stroked her son's dark-haired head soothingly. "Seems as soon as he's fed and changed he's asleep again."

"That's perfectly normal right now," Michaela assured her, pressing the cool bell of her stethoscope to the baby's chest. "Eventually he'll sleep through the night and only require one or two naps during the day." She listened intently for a few seconds. "His heart's healthy and strong."

Mrs. Evans smiled. "Is it? Oh, good. It's all right, Paddy. We're almost done."

A knock sounded at the door as Michaela carefully removed the small square of dressing from the baby's belly. She glanced at the clock. "That's probably Cal. He promised to stop by to repair my desk chair. One of the legs has grown dangerously loose. Would you rather he wait outside until we're finished?"

"Oh, no. Send him in," Mrs. Evans invited.

Michaela turned from the table. "Cal?"

Just as expected Cal opened the door, toolbox in hand. "Mike--oh, I'm sorry. I can wait."

"That's all right," Mrs. Evans spoke up. "Come in."

"...Is this your baby?" he asked softly, placing his toolbox on Michaela's desk and joining the women at the table.

"Hm-mm," she told him proudly. "John Patrick."

"Aw, Mike, look, he looks like Byron did with all that hair," Cal said, shooting her a smile.

"I suppose he does now that you say so," Michaela admitted, still wholly focused on her examination of the infant. "I'd like you to leave the bandages off to let it air," she instructed the baby's mother, "but for a few more days clean the area with the carbolic acid solution I gave you. After that it'll be fine to get it wet."

"All right, we'll do that," Mrs. Evans agreed.

"What do you say, Patrick?" Michaela crooned. "Are we all through?" Michaela sat the tiny infant up with one hand and pulled his shift over his head with the other while Mrs. Evans helped thread his arms through the sleeves.

"It's all right, Pat," Cal comforted the tearful baby. "You're all done now. Bet it wasn't as bad as ya thought, was it?"

"Ya sure he's healthy and everythin', Dr. Mike?" Mrs. Evans asked.

"He's very healthy. He's perfect in every way," Michaela said, lifting the infant from the table, pausing to give him a gentle squeeze, and turning him over to his mother. "I'll have you bring him back in a month for another check-up, and of course you can stop by anytime if you have a question about something."

Mrs. Evans kissed her baby's hair as he began to settle, safe and warm back in her familiar arms. "Thanks, Dr. Mike. Thank you for all ya've done for us," she said gratefully. She opened her purse while Michaela circled around the table to her desk to draw up the bill.

Cal tickled the infant's chest and made faces at it, chuckling as it focused on him and blew contented little bubbles with his pink lips. "Does he have to go, Mike?" he teased. "Can't we keep him?"

"I don't know how his mother would feel about that," Michaela responded wryly.

Mrs. Evans grinned as she gave Michaela a few coins and took her receipt. "Will ya all be comin' to the Centennial Celebration?" She rubbed her baby's back. "The fireworks are a little too late for Paddy, and too loud, too, but we'll come for the day's activities."

"Yes, we'll be there," Michaela promised.

"Then I'll see you then. Oh, and...I heard the good news." She glanced between the two of them. "Congratulations."

Cal took Michaela's hand and squeezed it. "Thanks."

As soon as Mrs. Evans had closed the door behind her, Michaela pulled her hand from Cal's grip and returned to the examination table.

"He sure was a cutie, wasn't he?" he said.

"Most babies are," Michaela responded, picking up a cloth and her carbolic acid to begin disinfecting her instruments.

"I can't wait till we have our baby," Cal said with a contented smile, approaching her and wrapping his arms around her waist. "She'll be beautiful, don't ya think, Mike? Or he."

Taken off guard, Michaela's breath caught. "Our...our baby?"

"Well, yeah. We'll have one right away I bet," he went on.

Michaela paused in her work. "Cal...perhaps that would be rushing things a little, having a baby right away. Perhaps we should wait until we're..."

"Until we're what?" he asked, confused. "What's there to wait for?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. Until we've settled into being married for a time. A few years, perhaps. Perhaps then we'll find that...well, we might not really want a baby."

"Of course we'll want one," he said, disconcerted. "Why wouldn't we?" He turned her to face him. "A few years? What's the matter, Mike? You and Sully were trying for Katie right away, weren't ya?"

"...We were but...what does that have to do with us?" she asked somewhat curtly.

Cal shifted uncomfortably. "Well...not much really. I'm just saying..." He paused, cupping her cheek in his hand. "I'm just saying I love ya and can't think of anybody else I'd want more to be my child's mama. I want us to have a baby together...don't you?"

Guilt tightened Michaela's throat. She hadn't thought about another baby in a long time. In fact soon after Sully's death she had settled herself on the reality that Byron would be her last child. Of course then she had never counted on marrying again. Even after beginning to court Cal she had not thought about the possibility of becoming pregnant if they were to eventually marry. Perhaps had not &allowed& herself to think about it. Now she wondered what it was that frightened her. What was it that made her so reluctant to consider starting a family with Cal? She had to admit she couldn't put her finger on it. At last she gave him a half-hearted smile.

"Sweetheart...we can talk about this another time. I've a lot of work to do here before I'll be ready to leave, and I'd really like to get home to Byron. Our mothers are both very capable of looking after him for the day, but you know how he is around people he's unfamiliar with. And are you going to repair my chair? I'd really appreciate it."

Disappointed, but deciding to take Michaela's excuse to postpone discussing the matter at face value, Cal released his hold about her waist and walked to her desk. "Sure, Mike." He dug in his toolbox for a hammer. "Got a record number of people wanting rides today," he began, changing the subject much to Michaela's relief. "I bet ya it's gonna keep picking up what with the Fourth coming this week..."

& & &

Katie rose from her hunched position over the tub of cool water. Clapping and cheering from the gathering of children and adults accompanied her squeal of delight. "I goth onth, Mama!" Katie released the apple into her hands and beamed at her mother proudly. "I got one!" she repeated, blinking drops of water from her eyelashes.

"So I see!" Michaela chuckled, taking the child's hand and leading her away from the tub to where she, Elizabeth, Caroline, and the girls stood. She pulled out a hankie and stooped down to pat her daughter's face dry.

"Katherine Sully, look at you!" Elizabeth moaned. "You've ruined your hair and soaked the front of your dress!" She lightly fingered the soggy red, white, and blue ribbons she herself had spent so long tying in Katie's beautiful locks.

"This is quite a pastime," Caroline remarked somewhat uncomfortably, observing the next little boy in line as he drew in his breath and dunked his head into the washtub brimming with apples. "And you find it satisfying because…?"

"It's fun," Katie replied happily, biting into her apple. She turned to Annabelle and Rose. "You try it," she encouraged. "Ya just need a penny to play." She tried to recall the different gestures Annabelle had taught her the day before, at last placing her fist to the side of her mouth and turning it slightly, signing "apple" for Rose's benefit.

"But I'll-I'll get all wet," a reluctant Annabelle told her. Rose gave her an equally apprehensive shake of her head.

Katie burst into a grin, taking their hands. "That's the fun part! C'mon! Get in line!"

Caroline handed her daughters two pennies. "You may try this game, girls," she agreed, smirking, "but only because it's the Centennial and your mother is in a good mood!"

"Thank you, Caroline," Michaela said as they watched their daughters join the line of children in front of the washtub. "They'll love it. You'll be surprised."

"They'll also be soaked," Elizabeth grumbled.

"Water dries," Michaela replied sensibly.

Elizabeth glanced around them at the crowd of people. Literally, the entire town had shown up for the celebration. After all, it wasn't every day a new territory joined the Union! "Where have Colleen and Rebecca and Marjorie run off to?"

"Rebecca said something about she and the other two helping to judge the needlepoint entries," Michaela explained. "Apparently Jake asked them."

"And Cal, Camille and Byron?" Elizabeth pressed worriedly. "Surely it couldn't have taken this long to find my grandson a drink of lemonade. One would think we could all manage to stay in one place for more than five minutes!"

"They must have been distracted by something else," Caroline said. "I know how Cal is. My mother as well for that matter."

"Are you sure Cal's responsible enough to look after him, Michaela?" Elizabeth asked. "There are so many people here and he's just a baby."

"He's three and a half and yes, I'm sure," Michaela said somewhat irritably. "Though perhaps we should try to find them. It's growing dark and the fireworks will be beginning soon."

"Yes, let's, as soon as the girls have finished…finished…" Caroline narrowed her eyebrows. "What is it you call it?"

"Bobbing for apples!" Michaela supplied with a chuckle.

& & &

Cal gave Byron's back a tender pat as he placed his worn out little body over his shoulder. He pulled an empty mug of lemonade from the little boy's limp grip and handed it to Camille.

"Has the little darling fallen asleep?" Camille asked softly, taking the mug in one hand as they continued their stroll in the general direction of the tub of apples. They took care to walk on the outskirts of the crowds, in order to have a somewhat private conversation.

Cal kissed Byron's head. "Yep. He didn't get his afternoon nap like he usually does, what with playing in the meadow all day. He's all tuckered out." He grew silent again.

Camille was well aware how talkative Cal had always been, as far back as the first few words spoken out of his mouth when he was just shy of a year old. His relative silence throughout the afternoon was beginning to worry her, especially with all the excitement due to the festivities in the meadow. "Are you looking forward to the wedding?" she asked.

He nodded silently.

She put her arm around him. "Oh, Cal. You'll be a wonderful husband, I know. You deserve all the happiness in the world." She stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. "What's troubling you, darling? You've always been able to come to me with anything that's on your mind. You may be a man now but you'll always be my son."

He exhaled slowly. "Nothing Momma, just…do ya ever get scared that…that the person who ya love is so perfect for ya, that the one thing that ends up not going like ya thought it would takes over, and ya worry about that little thing more than anything else?"

She paused. "I'm not sure I know quite what you mean," she admitted. "I suppose I thought your father was the perfect man when I married him…and then…perhaps if he had foregone his visits to the tavern things would have been as happy as I planned them to be." She narrowed her eyes. "Cal? What is it? Is something worrying you about Michaela?"

"No I…Michaela's the woman I want to be with the rest of my life. Once I realized that I started thinking ahead, started thinking about what the next several years would be like."

"And?" Camille prompted. "A happy conjure I'm sure."

He shrugged. "I guess I always saw…ya know, a baby or two in the picture. I love her kids, I do…" He gazed at Byron fondly. "'Specially this little guy…but I…"

"You want the child to be a part of the both of you," Camille supplied knowingly.

"Yeah, I guess that's it. I just know I got so much I could give a child of my own. I know Mike and I…we could give it so much. She's such a beautiful ma, and I'd try so hard to be a good pa." He lowered his eyes despondently. "But she didn't wanna talk about it when I brought it up. She don't like the idea all too much I don't think. Didn't realize how bad I want to have a baby with her until I saw she don't feel the same."

Camille thought about her son's words for some time, and at last spoke. "You would be a very good father, Cal. I've seen how you are already with this precious little boy, but as I've reminded you before, Michaela's had her children. When you were born, I remember feeling that you would be my last. It wasn't something I planned, it just happened naturally. Perhaps she too feels she's closed that book, and now is having a difficult time with the idea of an addendum. Try to imagine having one's entire life planned out, having that plan suddenly destroyed, then trying to start anew. Surely Michaela is experiencing many powerful emotions that are no doubt overwhelming."

"Oh, gosh. Ya think I scared her?" Cal said. "Didn't mean to put her on the spot. I just assumed-"

"Don't assume," Camille advised gently. "Women loathe that, darling. Give her time to sort out her feelings. I'm willing to wager she's thinking about it as much as you."

"How much time? Seems like I'm always waiting, always giving her time," he confessed quietly. "I don't mind, it's just, I wish I knew when all this waiting's gonna be over with."

"Don't push the idea any more now, Cal," Camille told him. "Hold off at least until you're comfortably married. If she loves you she'll come around before long."

"But I don't want her doing it just for me," Cal said. "I want her to want it, too."

"Cal, listen to yourself," Camille retorted. "Relationships involve giving and taking. Who have you been waiting for all these years? You waited until Michaela was ready to marry, just for her, didn't you?"

"I s'pose, but that ain't the same."

"The reality is that Michaela apparently doesn't share the same feelings as you as far as future children. When she comes around, she'll come around for you, out of love for you, just as you've sacrificed things for her. That's what marriage is about. You're going to be a team."

"This marriage thing is more complicated than I thought," Cal said, a hint of a smile at his lips.

"Oh, Lord knows!" groaned Camille. She squeezed her son's hand lovingly. "But I promise you, with each passing day you share with Michaela, you will find your love for her will only grow stronger, happiness will continue to fill your heart, and, hopefully…the doubts that you two may have now will disappear, to be replaced with nothing but certainties."

& & &

"Don't be frightened, darling," Michaela spoke softly to her son, hugging him in her lap on the blanket. "The fireworks are going to shoot up in the sky and be very nice to look at, but very loud, too."

"It won't hurt ya, Squirt," Cal told him, taking a seat beside Michaela. "It's just loud. Ya'll just have to cover your ears maybe, that's all."

"Won't hurt me?" Byron asked, taking Michaela's hands in his. "Pos-tive?"

Michaela kissed his cheek lovingly. "I'm positive. You're going to see nothing but lots of pretty colors. Like the rainbow."

"All wight," he agreed, resting back against his mother contently and looking up at the night sky in anticipation.

Michaela felt Cal's lips brush her cheek and plant a small kiss on her temple. "Love ya," he whispered.

"What's gotten into you?" Michaela teased softly, taking his hand.

He toyed with the lace on her collar. "My ma and I had a nice chat while we were getting Byron's lemonade. She reminded me of how lucky I'm gonna be in a few days. You're gonna be my wife. We're gonna…we're gonna be together like we've wanted to be." He watched her eyes as she timidly looked away. "…Ya worried about it?" he asked.

She shook her head, looking at him again. "No…" She swallowed hard. "Perhaps a little. It's just I don't usually…"

"Talk about it?" he finished wryly.

She nodded swiftly. "But…it's different when I talk about it with you. It's not something to be uncomfortable about."

"It's not," he affirmed. "…And I'm glad we waited," he whispered, threading her fingers with his. "It'll be even more special."

"You're special," Michaela replied, bringing their hands to her lips and kissing his fingers softly.

"Mama, what's state-hoods?" Katie interrupted, placing herself in Cal's lap. She, Annabelle, and Rose had been chasing each other near the blanket, waiting for the fireworks to begin. Camille, Elizabeth, Colleen, Marjorie and Rebecca were strolling nearby, and now approached the blanket to take seats for the fireworks. Brian and Sarah Sheehan followed behind them.

"Yes, what &is& statehood?" Annabelle added, finding a place next to her mother.

"Statehood?" Michaela repeated. "Statehood means that…that Colorado Territory becomes an official member of the United States. We'll be able to make more of our own decisions, and have a stronger voice in the government in Washington…and we'll have our very own star on the flag. We'll be a brand new state."

"It's kinda like…Colorado's birthday," Cal added, realizing the children were still confused.

"Col-rado's birday," Byron echoed thoughtfully.

Annabelle stuck out her lower lip in thought. "…Happy Birthday to you," she sang timidly.

"Happy Birthday to you!" Katie echoed.

"Happy Birthday, Colorado! Happy Birthday to you!" chimed in everyone else.

to be continued...


	31. Chapter 44

Chapter Forty-four  
The Wedding (Part 1)

Michaela shot up in bed with a cry. She pressed her hand to her chest and tried to catch her breath as a knock sounded at the door

. "Michaela, it's after nine o'clock," Elizabeth said entering the room. She smiled faintly. "Good morning."

"Good morning, Mother," Michaela said as her heart slowed to a more normal rhythm.

"Well, what's this? Sleeping in on your wedding day?" Elizabeth scolded. "I'm surprised you can sleep at all!"

Michaela smoothed her hair from her eyes. "What do you mean by that?"

Elizabeth caught herself. "N-nothing, Michaela. Only that…that it's a very big day and no doubt you're very excited. I could barely sleep myself." She eyed her daughter worriedly. "What's the matter?" She felt her brow with the back of her hand. "You're feverish, and look at you, you're perspiring like a field hand. Now is not the time to come down with something."

Wearily, Michaela rose from the bed and staggered to the basin, patting her face with a towel. "I had a dream," she admitted quietly. "A nightmare."

"Yes, well we all do from time to time," Elizabeth told her. "I remember you'd come scampering into our bedroom when you were a child, bounding into your father's lap in tears. You'd tell us tales of monsters, dragons, and other ridiculous creatures that had filled your head as you slept. We didn't know what to do with you."

"It was about Sully," Michaela whispered.

"Oh," Elizabeth stammered. "…I suppose that's natural. Of course you might think about him and your marriage together."

"He was calling to me, but I couldn't understand what he was saying," Michaela went on, sinking into her vanity chair. "I could see him so clearly. I could reach out to him…but I didn't."

Elizabeth picked up the brush and began running it through her daughter's sleep-tangled tresses. "Perhaps he was telling you he approves of the marriage," she suggested. "As I'm sure he does."

"Oh, do you think so?" Michaela asked hopefully. "I was so afraid he might be telling me…"

"Telling you what?" Elizabeth prompted.

She sighed. "I don't know. That he &doesn't& approve I suppose."

"That's absurd. Why wouldn't he?" Elizabeth retorted. "Besides, it was just a dream. You shouldn't attempt to place such significance in it. Come downstairs. Rebecca and Marjorie and I have prepared breakfast for you. Granted it was quite a task in that quaint little kitchen of yours, but we managed. And we've already gotten the children fed. They were just a bundle of energy this morning. I can barely keep up with them. Katie has proved herself utterly incapable of remaining silent for more than a minute. She obviously gets that from her mother. And Byron, my goodness, I've heard more out of him this morning than I have all week! And you led me to believe he's shy and reserved! Heavens, I should think not. He is your son after all."

"I have a stomach ache," Michaela told her. "I don't think I can eat anything."

"You must or it will only be worse," Elizabeth instructed. She rested her hands on her daughter's shoulders and gave her a squeeze. "Gain control of yourself, Michaela. This is a joyous day. You're getting married."

Michaela gazed at her mother's reflection in the mirror. "Do you…do you think I'm making a mistake, Mother?" For the first time since she had accepted Cal's proposal, an eerie doubt had formed in her mind, leaving her tense, hesitant, and anxious. She couldn't explain the feeling nor will it away.

"I think…" Elizabeth paused, choosing her words carefully. "I think you're in love. Besides, you've already thought this through. Michaela, you're to be wed in a matter of hours so please, stop this nonsense."

Michaela took a stiff breath and sat straighter, struggling to gain her composure. "You're right. This is nonsense."

"You're just nervous about the wedding," Elizabeth explained. "That happens to the best of us. It doesn't mean we're having second thoughts…Michaela, don't mention your dream to Cal," she advised.

"I tell Cal almost everything," she said.

"Yes, but he's going to be your husband now. You had a very happy first marriage, but for Cal's sake, you ought not to bring up Sully often if you can help it. He'll only be hurt, even if he pretends he isn't."

"Oh, dear," Michaela sighed. "I haven't thought about that. You're probably right."

Elizabeth picked up a picture frame from the vanity, gazing at it briefly. "Tuck this away somewhere. If Katie wants to see it you can show her in private."

Michaela took it from her, swallowing hard. The treasured photograph of the family at Katie's Christening. Sully's beaming smile, a smile he didn't often display, Michaela's happy grin, Katie bubbling in her arms, and the older children thrilled to have a new baby sister. All thinking life couldn't get any better, no one suspecting things could ever change. Sully had said Katie looked beautiful, 'just like her ma'. Michaela had made the Christening gown by hand. She had sat up late for several nights working on it, Sully sitting in the wingback chair across from her, reading or whittling away at something. She would call him over occasionally when she felt the baby kick, shift or develop the hiccups, and he would take a seat on the arm of the chair, kiss her hair and place his hand on her belly. When she had finished the gown she held it up proudly, and he had chuckled softly, the chuckle she knew so well, and kneeled beside her, laying the gown across her lap. "It fits," he had teased and she had smiled coyly as he caressed her stretching stomach. Sully had always made her feel special, loved, beautiful. No one had ever been as attentive as he to her thoughts and feelings. No one, perhaps, but Cal.

Michaela would have to separate it in her mind: her life with Sully and her life with Cal. In many ways they were tied together, especially through Katie and Byron, but in other ways what her mother said was true, it would likely hurt Cal to continue to talk about Sully as much as she was used to. That was going to be a challenge. After all Cal was the one who had helped her come out of her shell of misery over her husband's passing. He was the one who had encouraged her to talk about Sully, to write down her memories of him, and to tell the children about him. Day or night, he had said, I'll be here, to talk, to listen, whatever ya want. Nothing's more important to me than seeing you smile. Michaela had never forgotten that. Cal had indeed saved her life.

Michaela hugged the photograph to her chest, and then got down on her knees and opened the trunk. She buried it under an old pair of Byron's baby booties and a musty smelling black mourning dress, then shut the lid and stood up.

"Michaela?" Elizabeth began, approaching her. "Michaela…I want you to know that I'm very happy for you."

"Oh, Mother. Thank you," she replied. "I know this has been difficult for you to accept."

"I've come to realize you're doing the sensible thing," Elizabeth explained. "Sully certainly appreciates the love and care Cal will provide to his children." She drew in her breath. "And I'm sure he knows the two of you are going to look after each other and have a very good life together. It's a joyous day for him as well, knowing you've finally found happiness…That's all I prayed for, Michaela," Elizabeth went on, eyes suddenly moist with tears. "…For my last little girl to be happy."

They embraced warmly. "Thank you, Mother," Michaela whispered again. "That means so much to me."

Elizabeth pulled back. "Please, come downstairs. No daughter of mine is to be married on an empty stomach."

Michaela nodded, wiping tears from her eyes. "All right, I'll try," she agreed.

& & &

"Oh, Ma," Brian gasped. "Ya look so pretty." He entered the crowded recovery room of the clinic in his vest and trousers, his suit coat slung over his shoulder. Michaela was seated before her sisters and mother, who were fussing with her hair. A step away sat Katie, Annabelle and Rose. Caroline, Camille, and Colleen were paying equally as much attention to their fair tresses.

Michaela turned in her chair, a smile spreading across her face. "Brian."

"Hold still, Michaela," Rebecca scolded, removing the curling iron from the stove with a towel.

"I'm getting flowers in my hair, Brian," Katie informed him from her seat next to her mother. "Car-line is gonna put them in."

"Us too," spoke up Annabelle with a giggle.

"All of ya look so pretty," Brian said proudly. "Cal and Matthew and Robert E. and everybody are all ready. We're just waiting around now at Jake's. B. fell asleep on us. Don't worry, that means he'll be wide-awake by the time the wedding comes. He looks so sweet in that suit ya picked out for him, Grandma."

"Even if we wanted to we couldn't find the time for napping!" Marjorie put in. "Men always have it easy when it comes to weddings!"

"Cal don't know how to stop talking, Ma," Brian said, a slight smile at his lips. "I think he's a little nervous."

"Ask Uncle Cal to come over here," Annabelle spoke up excitedly.

"Yeah! Cal can come over and see my flowers!" Katie squealed.

"No, no, dears," Camille told them.

"It's bad luck for Ma and Cal to see each other 'fore the wedding," Brian explained. "You'll see him in a little bit, don't worry." He rested his hand on his mother's shoulder. "You ready now, Ma?"

Michaela patted Rebecca's hand. "This can wait." She lifted the flowing, ornate skirt of her pale blue gown and stood up.

"Michaela, you're only half finished," Dorothy protested.

"You gotta sit still and get your hair curled, Mama," Katie added helpfully.

"Sit back down this minute, Michaela," Elizabeth demanded. "…Oh, what next?"

"Brian and I have something we need to do," she replied simply. "I'll be back shortly."

& & &

"So don't you worry," Brian said bravely, kneeling beside Sully's marker in the cemetery. "Cal and I, we'll look after Ma for ya, and Katie and B. Everything…everything's gonna be all right."

Michaela tenderly patted his back.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, Brian rested one hand on the cross, as if that might somehow bring him closer to his father's spirit. "Love you, Pa," he whispered, rising to his feet.

"Thank you for coming with me, Brian," Michaela told him softly.

"I'm glad I did," Brian told her. He hesitated. "You walkin' back now?"

"You go ahead. If you don't mind I think I'd like a minute or so alone."

"Sure, Ma," he said quietly. He turned to leave, then paused, taking her hands. "Ma…I'm happy you're marrying Cal."

"Brian, you don't have to-" she protested.

"No," he insisted. "I am. And I think…I know things are gonna be better now."

She nodded tearfully. "Sully would be so proud of you, Brian…of his son."

He gave her a tight hug, biting back tears. At last, he pulled back. "See ya in an hour or so?"

"See you then." Michaela watched him go as he crossed the bridge to main street, walked a little ways and climbed the steps to Jake's barber shop, disappearing behind closed doors.

She turned back to Sully's cross, suddenly at a loss for words. She gazed at it for several minutes, mouth open as if to speak, and finally let out a quiet sigh. "Sully…thank you for everything you've given me," she murmured. "Thank you for showing me how beautiful love is, that I might share that with another...that I might find the strength to begin again." She grew quiet another long moment, thinking over her dream the night before. Surely, her mother was right. Surely, Sully approved. She kissed her fingertips, then pressed them to the cross. "I'll always love you, sweetheart. That will never change."

& & &

Michaela stood rigidly in the alcove of the church, holding Matthew's arm, eyes focused.

Matthew eyed her with a soft smile. "Nervous?"

She started, glancing at him quickly. "Hm?"

"Never mind," he replied. He patted her hand, finding it cool. "Ya look beautiful, Dr. Mike."

She sighed. "Thank you. You look nice, too."

"Bet right now, Sully's thinkin' how proud he is," he added softly. "Bet he's thinkin' how happy he is for all of us."

She nodded, choking up. "…Thank you, Matthew. That means a lot." A wave of uneasiness once more caused her to shiver. It was almost as if…something was out of balance.

"Michaela," a deep voice whispered.

Surprised, Michaela and Matthew turned around to face Daniel, dressed in a dark brown suit, hair slicked back, hat in hand.

Matthew opened his mouth to speak, but Michaela touched his arm, quieting him. "Daniel," she said with a smile.

"Don't worry, I ain't here to break up the weddin'," he teased. He extended his hand to Matthew. "Good t' see ya, son."

"Daniel," Matthew said, eyeing him apprehensively.

"Did I make it in time?" he asked.

"Yes, we're just about to start," Michaela told him.

He took her hand, giving it a light kiss. "Michaela, I don't hold no hard feelin's. I just wanted to wish you an' Cal all the best in person."

She smiled. "Thank you. I'm glad you came, Daniel. Cal will be, too."

"Best take a seat," he said, turning to step inside the sanctuary. "Don't want to miss anythin'."

"…I didn't know ya invited Daniel, Dr. Mike," Matthew remarked.

"It was Cal's idea," Michaela replied. "He thought it would be a nice gesture."

Matthew nodded. "S'pose it was nice of him to come."

She tightened her hold about his arm as the organ began playing.

"Dr. Mike? You all right?" he asked worriedly. "You're real pale."

"Just anxious I suppose." She mustered a small smile. "This is only the second time I've done this you know."

"If it makes ya feel any better, this is only the first time I've walked someone down the aisle."

She smiled. "There's no one I'd rather have at my side right now, Matthew."

He kissed her cheek sweetly. "There's no one I'd rather walk down the aisle than my ma," he replied. He nodded toward the sanctuary. "Ready?"

She swallowed hard. There was no turning back now. She felt her palms dampening with perspiration and her knees weakening. "Yes…I'm ready."

& & &

"…Just as two very different threads woven in opposite directions can form a beautiful tapestry," the Reverend went on, standing before Michaela and Cal, "so can your two lives merge together to form a beautiful marriage. To make your marriage work will take love. Love should be the core of your marriage, love is the reason you are here. But it also will take trust—to know in your hearts you want the best for each other…"

Cal thought that he had never been happier. In a few minutes, the love of his life was going to be his wife. He could hardly believe it. Last night he'd laid awake for hours, thinking about the wedding, his future with Michaela. He was a little scared, he had to admit. After all, it wasn't every day Cal Brooks married someone. Yet, he also felt very certain, more certain than he'd ever been, that he loved Michaela with all his body and soul, and wanted nothing more than to marry her. He only prayed he could be everything she could want, and that he could give her as much joy and happiness as Sully had. Michaela looked about as nervous as him. Her skin glowed softly from a fine sheen of perspiration, and her hand felt cool and seemed to even be trembling. Yet she was happy, Cal was sure of it.

Cal felt as if he were catching glimpses of the happening around him, and that it were only he and Michaela in their own world of bliss. He saw Robert E., Brian, and Byron to his right, standing tall and proud. To his left stood a beautiful and grinning Katie, clutching her little basket of flower petals, and behind her Michaela's sisters, and Colleen, Dorothy, Grace, and Caroline. He caught his mother out of the corner of his eye, dabbing at her nose with a hankie, and everyone else seated in the pews smiling and sighing happily. Cal could hear the Reverend's voice and see the kind man standing before them, but remained distracted by the woman at his side. She was squeezing his hand hard, her eyes focused on the reverend as he spoke. She had been a picture of beauty on Matthew's arm, walking down the aisle. She had focused on him and he at her, playing out the exact dream Cal had always had in his mind. Her dress was pale blue as they had planned, with a modest but intricate lace bodice, long lacy sleeves, and a richly flowing skirt. The women had curled her hair, pinned it up at the sides but leaving it long and fluid in the back, and had placed baby's breath here and there, just as Camille had suggested. Michaela was the perfect image of all that he had imagined, and then some.

"It will take faith—to always be willing to go forward to tomorrow," continued the Reverend, "never really knowing what tomorrow will bring. And it will take commitment—to hold true to the journey you both now pledge to share together."

Cal's smile broadened as Michaela glanced at him, silently communicating her passion for him. He squeezed her hand in answer and pressed it against him. Upon the Reverend's bidding, they turned to face each other, joining both hands. It was indeed as if it were only he and his love, his 'Mike'.

"Cal, do you take Michaela to be your wife?" asked the Reverend. "Do you promise to love, honor, cherish, and protect her, forsaking all others and holding only unto her so long as you both shall live?"

"I do," he said.

Michaela smiled, the same expression Cal had provoked the day they had met. Later she had told him that was the first time she had smiled since Sully's death.

"Michaela, do you take Cal to be your husband?" the Reverend went on. "Do you promise to love, honor, cherish, and protect him, forsaking all others and holding only unto him so long as you both shall live?"

Her throat grew dry with a sudden apprehension she couldn't push aside, but there was no time for hesitation now. "I do," she whispered determinedly.

The Reverend turned to his left. "The rings, please."

"Here ya go," Byron said proudly, holding up the little lace pillow above his head and beaming at Cal and his mother.

"Thank you, Byron." The Reverend removed the rings and placed them on his Bible, then turned back to the couple.

"Cal, take Michaela's ring and place it on her finger," he instructed, "and repeat after me: With this ring, I thee wed."

Cal looked into Michaela's eyes. "With this ring, I thee wed."

"And Michaela, place Cal's ring on his finger and repeat after me: With this ring, I thee wed."

Michaela slid the ring on Cal's finger, blinking back tears. She was so pleased Cal had agreed to the exchanging of rings. Not only was it a beautiful symbol of their love, but it was also something that would help make the marriage unique. She didn't want to forget Sully of course, but she wanted to form new and different memories of her second marriage, and Cal had understood and respected that. She inhaled deeply. "With this ring, I thee wed."

The Reverend turned to the table behind him and removed three single red roses from a vase. He turned back to the congregation and gave the roses to the couple. "Not only are Michaela and Cal creating a marriage today, but they are also forming a family with Brian, Katie, and Byron. Just as it is appropriate for Michaela and Cal to begin their marriage by affirming their love for each other by exchanging rings, they also wish to promise their commitment to each of the children with a gift of a rose."

Cal and Michaela stepped towards Katie and handed her the first rose, giving her a hug and a kiss as she giggled happily.

Next, they gave Brian the second rose. Cal shook his hand and Michaela and her son shared a warm hug. "I love you, Brian," she whispered.

"Love you, too, Ma," he whispered back.

Finally they turned to Byron, standing straight in his little suit, the pillow clutched at his side, being so patient throughout the ceremony, most of which he didn't understand. Cal and Michaela handed him the rose and hugged him together, each kissing one of his cheeks.

"Love you, Mama," Byron whispered sweetly.

"Oh, I love you, darling," Michaela replied, tears springing to her eyes.

"Love you, Cal," Byron said, looking up at him.

Cal swallowed hard, touched. "Love you, too, little guy."

Cal and Michaela returned to their position before the reverend, joining hands again.

"And now Cloud Dancing has asked if he might say a few words," said the reverend, stepping aside as the proud Indian took his place.

Michaela glanced at Dorothy, giving her a pleased grin. The two of them had ridden out to the reservation a week before the wedding to obtain a day pass for their Indian friend. It was amazing how quickly two fiery women could win over a band of insufferable soldiers, and they couldn't stop chuckling over it the entire journey back to town.

Cloud Dancing placed his hands atop Michaela and Cal's. "The Apache have a prayer that is said at every wedding. The Apache and Cheyenne people agree that marriage is sacred, and we have found common ground in that. I will share this prayer with Michaela and Cal, as a blessing as they begin their life together." He cleared his throat. "'Now you will feel no rain, for each of you will be shelter to the other. Now you will feel no cold, for each of you will be warmth to the other. Now there is no more loneliness for you. You are two persons, but there is only one life before you. Go now to your dwelling place, to enter into the days of your togetherness, and may your days be good and long together."

"…Thank you, Cloud Dancing," Michaela whispered.

"Thank you," Cal echoed hoarsely.

"Amen," the Reverend said, and the congregation echoed him. He stood up beside Cloud Dancing. "Michaela and Cal, in so much as the two of you have agreed to live together in Matrimony, have promised your love for each other by these vows and these rings, and your devotion to each of the children through the giving of a rose, I now declare you husband and wife." He grinned. "Congratulations, you may kiss your bride."

Cal wrapped his arms around Michaela's back in a loving embrace and tenderly pressed his lips to hers. The congregation began clapping as they broke apart, cheeks flushed.

"Mike…we're married," Cal said elatedly.

"One might conclude that," Michaela chuckled, cupping his cheek with her hand.

He laughed and gave her a tight hug as the congregation applauded louder. The doubts they had each experienced had disappeared…at least for the moment.

to be continued...


	32. Chapter 45

Chapter Forty-five  
The Wedding (Part Two)

As the last waltz ended, the wedding guests began to disband from the small area that had been cleared out in Grace's café and turned into a makeshift dance floor. Michaela kept her hand firmly clasped in Cal's, unwilling to allow the day to end.

Cal drew her nearer and kissed her. "Ya have a good time?"

"I had a wonderful time," Michaela affirmed. "Did you?"

"More than wonderful," he replied. "…You're glad ya said yes?"

Michaela chuckled. "More than glad."

"Mama," Katie called from across the dance floor, Byron at her side. "Mama, come on!"

"Come on, Mama!" Byron encouraged. "Come on, Cal!"

"Guess they're eager to get rid of us," Cal teased.

Michaela nodded shyly. Grace and Robert E. had been more than happy to look after the three children. As the couple were probably Byron and Katie's most favorite people in the world, Michaela understood why they were so excited to see Cal and their mother off to the homestead so they could begin their own overnight with their surrogate parents.

As the two small children took their hands and led them out of the café, Michaela had to admit she felt a little awkward about spending her first night as Cal's wife at the homestead. It seemed strange, honeymooning in the same house where much of their friendship had developed and grown, and where their romance had begun. Not to mention the fact that they would be consummating the marriage in the exact place she and Sully had molded two separate lives into one. Uncomfortable as she was, Michaela told herself she would have to get used to it sometime. The homestead was where she was going to live with Cal for several months at the least, until he could begin work on their house in town, and it was too late to change things now. Suddenly, her eyes widened. Katie and Byron had escorted the two to a fancy carriage with silver trim, a driver in a top hat, and a beautiful white horse.

"Mr. Jerrick?" Michaela murmured, peering up at the driver. Because of Jerrick's broken toes last Christmas, crushed by a horse, Michaela recalled, Cal had taken over his job for several weeks. It had been an excuse to prolong his stay in Colorado Springs, and Cal had jumped at the chance, not devoid of Michaela's encouragement.

"Evenin', Dr. Mike," Mr. Jerrick called down to her, his eyes squinting teasingly. "Hear tell you folks just got yourselves hitched."

"Jerrick…what're ya doing?" Cal asked. He glanced around him, noticing everyone else suppressing grins and chuckles. It seemed as if the whole town was in on a big joke.

"Hop in, Ma," Brian urged, picking up his giggling little brother.

Colleen stepped forward, taking Michaela's hand. "Preston's got a table for two reserved, and his best suite all done up special."

"Little bird told us ya weren't plannin' much of a honeymoon," Matthew spoke up, "so we thought we'd see what we could do 'bout that." He crossed his arms and nodded at his younger brothers and sisters. "The five of us worked it out."

"It's not much," Colleen added, "but at least it's something."

Suddenly tears spilled down Michaela's cheeks. "I don't believe it. You all planned this?"

Brian beamed. "Yep."

"This is…this is great, kids," Cal said, overwhelmed. He made an evil face at Byron and Katie, who couldn't stop giggling. "And you two kept it all a secret!"

Hugs and kisses were exchanged all around, Michaela and Cal said goodbye to their respective families along with more tears, and soon the happy couple were off, a collections of blue and white streamers trailing behind the carriage along with a glittery, slightly lop-sided "Just Married" sign put together by Brian, Katie, and Byron.

& & &

Michaela opened the doors of the balcony and gazed out at the stunning view of the mountains, the setting sun creating orange, red, and yellow streaks across the sapphire sky. She felt as if she were standing in the midst of a surreal painting, a dream even. Unconsciously, she rubbed her stomach. It had been fluttering all day, even more so now. The generous steak and steamed vegetable dinner in a quiet corner of the chateau restaurant had been pleasant, romantic, even sensuous, but she had barely been able to swallow more than a few bites of the meal. Thankfully, Cal had not pestered her about it, anxious himself and only managing a little of the vegetables and some ice water. They had ended up talking quietly for over an hour, as they had always been able to do, joining hands across the candlelit table. To both their amazements Preston had approached the couple to inquire how they were faring, after which he personally escorted them to their room, managing all this without one snide remark, a difficult task but apparently possible.

Michaela remembered being nervous when she married Sully, but she couldn't remember being &terrified&, as she felt now. Oddly enough, she couldn't pinpoint what was troubling her. With Sully, she had been simply worried about…well, the wedding night. She so wanted to please him, to be everything to him. That worry had quickly passed and now seemed so nearly infantile she blushed to think of it. As soon as Sully lifted her into his arms and laid her on their bed her fears had eased, and from then on, it had been nothing but bliss. Of course, she wanting things to be as wonderful with Cal as well, but it wasn't that specifically that made her voice quiver and her knees weak. She took a stiff breath. Michaela Quinn had always been able to control her emotions, and she wasn't going to let them get the best of her now. She suddenly felt a deep urge to have Cal beside her. It wasn't he she was afraid of, it was something else, some outside force, like the horribly vivid dream she had experienced the night before. She needed Cal to protect her, hold her, and love her, as he always had. She needed to be with him. She was ready. As if he had read her mind Cal's arms enveloped her protectively from behind. She sighed in his embrace, leaning back against him. She felt much better.

"Isn't this sunset gorgeous?" she spoke quietly, her breath slowing as she calmed.

She felt him nod against her hair. "Sure is. This room's beautiful, too." He paused, kissing her temple."Everything about today was beautiful." He gave her a slender glass with an intricate spiral handle, filled half way with champagne, and turned her to face him, pressing her against him.

"To the rest of our lives," he murmured, gazing into her eyes as he held up his glass.

Michaela felt a lump in her throat she could not suppress. How innocently she and Sully had imagined the rest of their lives, and even someday, dying in each other's arms. She had been weary of such promises ever since. She hesitated, but only for a moment. She loved Cal, and she wasn't going to spoil this for him. "To the rest of our lives," Michaela repeated, pressing her glass to his with a placid ring.

He took a modest sip of the champagne, and then placed the glass on the nearby vanity. He was eyeing her, forming presumptions as to what she was feeling, and Michaela felt self-conscious. She placed her glass beside his, and despite herself, tears came to her eyes.

"Oh, Mike," Cal murmured. "What is it? Something's troubling ya. Been troubling ya all day."

Michaela shook her head, unable to explain. At last, she took a quivering breath. She knew she could be honest with Cal when it came to this. "It's just I n-never thought I would be…this happy again. I'm so happy."

"Michaela," he murmured, overcome. He held her tenderly for a long moment, gently swaying her from side to side as she cried tears of joy, and despite all the good, of frustration at that unexplainable nagging in her heart, beset on ruining the evening. One of the few things she would not share with Cal, but only because she knew it would hurt him. "I love you so much," she told him, deciding then and there she wasn't going to let anything spoil what they had.

He cupped her face in his hands, his eyes filled with passion, but with a twinkle of mischief that appeared whenever he teased her. Michaela had pretended to hate his seemingly constant banter, where in fact she had fallen for it, subsequently falling for Cal. "I love ya more," he whispered.

He reached behind her and began unfastening the tiny clasps at the back of her gown, whilst she shyly but resolutely slipped his suit coat off his shoulders and unbuttoned his vest and shirt. Their pace started slowly, but gradually picked up speed as kisses and caresses became a part of the process.

Michaela felt little wariness now as she unbuckled his suspenders and nudged his trousers over his hips, kissing his warm chest as she did so. Cal loosened the strings on her corset and she breathed a sigh of relief. Together they tugged and pulled at the exasperating device, at last freeing her of it, sharing a few timid chuckles in the process. Even more fervently, Michaela pulled her camisole over her head, letting it fall atop their various garments, forming a chaotic pile on the oriental carpet. At last she paused, out of breath. Cal stood before her, his clothes at his feet, his skin glowing from the fading sun. He's beautiful, Michaela thought. She wondered what he was thinking, and received her answer as he buried his fingers in her hair, caressing her scalp, his touch delicious.

She thought about the possibility of becoming pregnant for a fleeting moment, then put the idea out of her head, certain it wouldn't happen. It seemed to have taken forever for Katie to come along, and even longer with Byron. Not until after months of work, literally. It had strained she and Sully's marriage until they decided it would happen when they stopped trying so hard, and so it had, twice, eventually. Michaela didn't conceive babies easily and certainly not on her wedding night, even if she had wanted it with all her heart. No, it wouldn't happen. It couldn't. As Michaela thought about it longer, she realized she had never spoken to Cal about that, about how difficult she and Sully had found it to conceive. Granted it wasn't a subject that often came up, but Cal had recently told her he had hoped for a baby "right away," not considering what he wanted wasn't always what was possible even if Michaela were to be willing. What else had she neglected to tell him? What else should he have known before deciding to marry her? Again, her stomach fluttered uncontrollably.

"Ya all right?" Cal asked, his voice rough and filled with desire. He'd wanted to be with Michaela for a long time, since the day he realized he didn't want to live without her. Now that it was finally coming true, a want that had perhaps at first been by and large physical, had transformed into a deep seeded need, a need to love this woman who completed him like no other had. Suddenly Cal felt as if there were no others before her. In his mind, Michaela was the first. He had not known true love until her.

Michaela swallowed hard and nodded, unable to speak, suddenly embarrassed to allow her eyes to leave his.

Without further pause, Cal lifted Michaela off her feet and backed toward the bed, his lips converging with hers. Seconds later he fell to the bed and laid her down, frantically unlacing her pantaloons and sending them to the floor in a heap. "…You're so beautiful, darlin'. I love you," he murmured reassuringly.

Michaela knew it was going to be different, had prepared herself to expect that, but had not anticipated how much she would ache to be loved by Cal in such a special way. Reaching this point had been the furthest from her mind only a few months ago, but now that it was here, despite everything, it felt more right than she ever thought it would be. Right for her children, but for herself as well. She gasped and shut her eyes tight. Cal grasped her hands, and she squeezed them back as he pressed his lips to her cheek understandingly and remained motionless, waiting to be sure she was all right.

"Go…go slow," she at last whispered hoarsely.

He tenderly kissed her lips. "We will."

She nodded, gave another soft gasp, and held him tight against her, letting the passion she shared with this wonderful man she never intended to find guide their fervent lovemaking. Michaela was sure she had made the right decision. 'Until death do us part,' Cal was now her husband.

& & &

The old man wheeled his rickety wooden cart down the narrow, damp hallway, stopping at each cell to offer its prisoner a worn and beaten book. They didn't care about the condition. A book was a book. They devoured them like hogs, and the nearly half who were illiterate knew they were missing out and were jealous. "Jack," they all called him. It wasn't really his name. He was born Elmer Jackson, but somewhere along the line of his forty years working at the prison, it had been shortened to "Jack". Ironically, Jack couldn't read himself, but if he were able to bring joy to those who could in this small way, he'd do so.

He brushed what was left of his wispy gray hair from his eyes and slowed to a stop in front of the cell of Prisoner 204. He'd taken the poor boy under his wing, ever since he had arrived three, no, it had to be a good four years ago. The boy had been horribly miserable throughout his time there. Of course, all prisoners were probably unhappy, but this lad…he was downright depressed. He and Jack had brief chats, when they could, pretending to exchange books through the cell bars. The prisoner didn't say much, but when he did, it was always about his past, his life before the mess that got him in prison, causing his eyes to light up like nothing else could. Jack supposed that was what was keeping the boy going, his hope to someday be released and return home. Jack couldn't fathom how such a decent young man had ended up in a place like this. Over the years, he'd come to believe he was innocent. He didn't know what gave him the feeling, but somehow, he was sure he was right.

"Two-o-four," Jack called through the bars.

The prisoner arose from his hard, moth eaten mattress and staggered over. His wrists and ankles were bloody and chaffing from the chains around them, his whiskers had grown thick and straggly from infrequent trims, and he was filthy. "Hey, Jack," he murmured weakly.

"Got a new one today," Jack said. "By that Twain fella." He picked up the relatively unblemished leather-bound novel and passed it through the bars.

"Thanks," the prisoner said. "Look forward to it." He turned to sit back down, but Jack called to him in a hushed tone.

"Say, ya know 'bout the…'bout the changes comin' up?" he began as quietly as possible.

The prisoner narrowed his eyes, shuffling back to the bars and holding them with his fists. "Changes?"

Jack gripped his arm. "They're gonna be adding on to the prison. It's gettin' too crowded, even for this place. Hear tell they'll be startin' this winter, when the weather's a little cooler, if not sooner."

The prisoner drew in his breath, digesting it all.

"I can see to it you're part of the crew that works on it," Jack went on, looking about him nervously. "Look, there's a group of ya that're plannin' something. Four or five of ya. I could get ya in on it. It's your best chance. You'd be outside, near the river. I could get some canoes-"

"Jack…don't be puttin' yourself at risk for me," the prisoner insisted. "I can't let ya do that."

"I got to," Jack said bravely. "It's the right thing." He lifted another book from his cart and pretended to hand it through the bars. "I know ya ain't done anything."

The prisoner lifted his eyes, astonished. "How do ya know?"

He shrugged. "I just do. But there ain't time for that. Listen t' me. I can gather up some supplies for ya and leave them someplace. The rest'd be up to you. I'd have nothin' to do with the rest of it."

The prisoner let out another anxious sigh. He was going to do it. He was going to escape. And he wasn't going to be caught this time. "Jack…thank you. Thank you," he murmured. "Don't know how I can repay ya for somethin' like this."

Jack nodded stiffly. "Ain't nothin'. We just gotta get ya outta here. We gotta get ya out."

to be continued...


	33. Chapter 46

Chapter Forty-six

Michaela awoke slowly to the crisp winter air and the sound of a pair of bluebirds chirping outside the frost bitten window. She stretched in Cal's arms, letting out a yawn. He was waking as well. She felt his ankle hook over hers, his feet warm her chilled ones, and his hand make its way over her shoulder to caress her breast beneath the cozy flannel of her nightgown.

"Good morning," she murmured, placing her hand atop his arm and squeezing it.

Cal breathed in deeply and buried his lips in her hair. "Morning."

"Church today," Michaela reminded him, stretching her legs.

Sleepily, he lifted her hair from her neck and kissed it softly and tantalizingly. "Church? Never heard of him." He ran his fingers down her back, causing her to shiver with pleasure. "'Sides…wouldn't ya rather stay here?"

Michaela let out a dry chuckle and turned to face him. "Church today and…" She hesitated. "What are you doing tomorrow?"

He coughed. "Um, tomorrow? Oh, the usual: streetcars, streetcars, and more streetcars. Why, what's so special about tomorrow?

She averted her eyes, disappointed. "Oh. Nothing, really."

"What?" he encouraged, a grin tugging at his lips. "When the Mike I know tells me 'nothing' that usually means 'something'."

"Cal, truthfully, it's nothing," she insisted.

"Well, fine then." Suddenly he burst into laughter, unable to hold it back any longer. "…I had ya good and fooled!"

She stared at him for a moment, perplexed, then smiled. "You remember?"

"Oh, Mike. How could I forget the six month anniversary of the happiest day of my life?" he whispered.

"You remember," Michaela breathed, hugging his neck. "I was hoping you might, but then I thought, it's not really an official anniversary. But six months &is& a milestone."

"It's a very special milestone and I wouldn't let it slip by unnoticed for the world," Cal replied.

Michaela sighed happily and hugged him tighter, unable to believe it had been six months since they had first woken together as husband and wife. It had been a half a year of relative marital bliss. Cal was everything she knew he would be in a husband. They had long talks late into the night, he listened to and respected her thoughts and feelings, protected her like nothing less than a precious gem, and as always, never failed to coax a smile to her face. She also realized he filled her in another way, in a way that had been missing since her marriage to Sully. She had nearly forgotten how powerful a woman's desire could be for the man that she loved, both physically and emotionally. Blushingly, she had to admit that aspect of the marriage had been…simply wonderful. Michaela hoped that the feeling was mutual, that Cal was as happy in the marriage as he claimed she made him.

Of course, there had been arguments now and again, mainly over the children. When it came to giving out punishment for the occasional misbehavior, Cal took great pains to avoid the situation, leaving everything up to his wife. Now that they were married, Michaela wanted the raising of her children to be an equal partnership. Once after she had finally broken into tears Cal had told her he was sorry but he just couldn't. It wouldn't be right. I ain't really their pa, he had said. At last, he had hugged her, her tears had ebbed, and he confessed that he just needed a little time to get used to things. Surely she could understand that, how important time could be. He had always been close to Michaela's children, but now that he was officially their second father of sorts, the change was quite a big step that overwhelmed him more than he had anticipated.

In every other respect, Michaela thought Cal a wonderful surrogate father, even if he didn't like to think of himself as one. He was always up to taking a walk with Brian, with whom he had been on good terms with since the marriage, or get on all fours and play "house" with Katie, or let Byron, with whom he had become even more inseparable, ride along with him in the streetcar. "Cal" all three of the children called him. Michaela didn't have any particular desire for that to change, though she was aware it might very well evolve in the future, and she sensed that Cal felt the same.

"Mama!" Byron called plaintively through the oak door. "Mama! Cal!"

Cal paused in the unbuttoning of Michaela's nightgown, emitting a teasing groan.

"What is it, Byron, darling?" Michaela replied. She gave Cal an apologetic kiss and began buttoning her gown, destroying all his hard work.

"Time to get up!" Byron informed them. "Chuwch!" He was silent a moment, awaiting a reply, then knocked softly. "I can--may come in? Please?"

Michaela completed the top button and sat herself up in bed, pulling the covers up to her waist. "You may," she affirmed.

The door swung open and Byron bounded into bed with the couple, his navy blue nightshift twisted and wrinkled and his hair tousled from sleep. "Time to get up," he repeated, settling himself into his mother's lap.

Michaela kissed his cheek and hugged him. "Yes, we're up!"

"We are now," Cal grumbled wryly, propping himself up on one elbow and tapping Byron's nose.

"You were a good boy knocking and calling to us like that before opening the door," Michaela told him. "That's just what we talked about, hm?"

"Yeah, 'cause ya need piracy," Byron affirmed.

"Privacy," Cal articulated with a chuckle. "Piracy means something completely different."

"What's it mean?" Byron asked curiously.

"Well-" Cal began, then caught himself when Michaela gave him the evil eye. "Nothing much worth explaining, really," he finished quietly.

"Shall we get you dressed for church, sweetheart?" Michaela spoke, changing the subject.

"Yeah, and can you make me pancakes, Cal?" Byron asked eagerly. "I love them!"

Cal emitted another chuckle. "Sure, Squirt. Long as you're good for your mama today. Remember we got the council meeting after church?"

"I 'member," Byron sighed.

"It shouldn't be too long," Michaela assured him. "Jake is adamant about once again rehashing the issue of paving our roads, but there simply aren't enough funds in the treasury to accommodate such a project, at least not at present. I'm sure we'll strike the idea down directly." She drew in her breath, only to find Byron had busied himself with turning a button on her gown. With a soft grin, Michaela kissed his head and swung her legs out of bed. "Come on, let's get you and your sister and brother dressed, and then we'll have some of Cal's pancakes!"

& & &

"You wait out here with the other kids," Brian instructed his little brother and sister. "I'm gonna go inside and watch the council meetin' with Ma and Cal."

"Don't ya wanna play with us?" Katie asked, looking up at him pleadingly.

Brian stooped to their level. "Aw, sure I would, but it won't be long, just like Ma said. And 'sides, I kinda wanna see it. They're kinda interesting. Ya'll understand when you're bigger." He nodded across the churchyard where a gathering of boys had organized a game of marbles. "Why don't ya go over there an' watch?"

"All right, I watch," Byron agreed. "Bye, Brian!"

Brian smiled and tousled his hair. "See ya in a little bit, B."

"I'm gonna go swing," Katie said, uninterested in attempting to push her way to the front of a group of loud and rowdy boys, and only to watch a silly marble game. Yes, that sort of thing was definitely for boys.

Aware that he was by far the smallest child among the group, Byron stood tall and made his way to the center of the gathering. Enthralled, he watched two of the boys crouch to their knees and fire their colorful shooters in the dust. The game was for each other's marbles, and the boys took it very seriously. Bickering and shouting were plentiful among the small gathering.

After a few minutes, Byron could stand it no longer, and boldly took a step forward. "Can I play?" he asked one of the older boys. He recognized the child; Richard was his name, a schoolmate of Brian's.

"Ya got any marbles?" Richard asked, bending to one knee, amused by the little boy.

Byron looked down and stuck his hands in his pockets, pulling them inside out. "No," he admitted, looking back up.

"He can't play. He's too little," spoke up one of the younger children.

"Anybody can play if they got marbles, and if they wait their turn," Richard announced.

"Where'd I get marbles?" Byron queried.

"Ya gotta get 'em at the Mercantile," explained another boy. "They're a few pennies each. You could do chores for Mr. Brooks an' get pennies."

"Yeah, my pa lets me sweep the barn," another added. "I get eight whole pennies for that each week."

"I not a-llowed in barn," Byron said quietly. That had been the rule, ever since his attacks had started. He wished he could go in, pet the animals and help Cal and Brian with the chores, but his mother had forbid it, at least until they were sure his asthma was under control.

"Well, ya can find something else then," Richard reassured him. "There's plenty of chores somebody your age can do. My pa used to let me ride along with him when he went to Denver t' trade. I'd help him out."

"Mine, too," spoke another boy.

Byron thought a moment. "Cal, he says I can help him wid streetcars. And he is the best driver in Col-rado."

"Silly. You're not big enough to drive those streetcars," a boy not much older than Byron accused.

"My pa lets &me& drive the wagon sometimes," the boy's older brother bragged.

"I am too big 'nough!" Byron retorted. "He says I could!…My pa says I can help! Then I can get pennies!"

A few of the older children burst into giggles.

"Your pa?" echoed the eldest, Aaron. "Mr. Brooks ain't your pa, stupid."

Byron stuck out his lower lip. "Is, too."

Aaron stepped up to Byron, hands on his hips. "Oh, yeah? My pa says your pa's body is rotting on the bottom of a creek, and his soul's burnin' in hell."

The two boys shooting marbles paused, looking up at Aaron and Byron silently.

"No, is not!" Byron shouted, tears threatening. "He went t' heaven 'cause there's an acc-dent an' God wanted him. Mama said! Sull-wee went to heaven when's me was a little baby in her tummy. Then I was in there a long time and then Cal helped my mama get me born and then I wasn't in her tummy no more."

"That's bad talk about babies," a younger child put in spitefully. "I'll tell on you."

"God wanted Sull-wee!" Byron returned, feeling quite defenseless. "My mama said so!"

"Yeah? You ask Dr. Mike for the truth then," Aaron went on. "Ask her and she'll tell ya it's his own fault. I remember it clear as day. Got into a big mess with some Injuns and the army and he and this other soldier fell straight over a cliff." He picked up his Sunday school Bible, held it high over his head, and dropped it to the ground with a smack and a small cloud of dust. "Smash! Fell to their death!"

"Yeah, I remember that, too," spoke up another. "He was gonna get hanged if he hadn't got killed. Mr. Sully's a traitor, everybody said. It weren't no accident, Byron."

"Hey, leave the kid be," Richard put in. "He didn't do anything."

Byron struggled to keep his tears in check. "What's a taitor?"

"You sure are dumb," Aaron chuckled. "Didn't nobody ever teach you anything? Means he did somethin' real bad. Means he's a bad man, sorta like an outlaw, and everybody wants t' see a rope 'round his neck." He thought a moment. "Bet you'll grow up to be just like him. You're his son, after all. Byron Sully the second. Ha!"

"Am not!" His fuse run out, Byron went after the boy, hitting him with his fists with all his energy. Aaron only laughed and picked him up, tossing him in the dust with little effort.

"Hey!" Richard shouted, grabbing Aaron's arm. "Ya wanna get us all in trouble? He's gonna go rat on ya now!"

"What do I care? Nobody's gonna believe some little kid," Aaron said. He got back on his knees and picked up his shooter. "Come on, let's play."

Hot tears slipping down his cheeks, Byron sat himself up, rubbing his eyes with his fists. Richard bent to his level, helping him to his feet and brushing off his button down shirt. "Ya all right, Byron? Don't tell, kid, please." He spotted the church doors opening. "Oh, there ya go. The meetin's over. Go on to your ma. Go on."

Sniffling, Byron obeyed, hurrying over to his mother and throwing himself against her legs. "Brynie?" Michaela murmured, lifting him into her arms. He was hiccupping, his face tear-streaked, though he wore his bravest smile.

Cal rubbed his back as they began walking toward the wagon. "What's the matter, little guy?"

"What in heaven's name happened?" Michaela questioned. She took note of his britches, covered in dust, and his face, streaked with dirt from touching it with his fists. "Look at your good Sunday clothes. How did you get them so dirty?" she demanded. She took out her handkerchief and began wiping his cheeks.

Byron averted his eyes, fathoming the best excuse he could. "I…I fell, Mama." He just couldn't tell her what the boys had said about Sully. He supposed he was afraid to tell her, afraid if he told he would find out she had been lying to him all along. And he was scared, too. Scared his pa really had been a bad man, and was in…in hell, that bad place in the Bible that nobody talked about. Byron glanced at Cal. He didn't need to be scared. Cal was his papa now. He could forget Sully.

"You fell?" Michaela repeated disbelievingly. "My goodness, that must have been quite a spill!"

"You didn't let those boys pick on ya, did ya?" Brian asked, trying to read Byron's troubled expression. "You know you can come get me if anybody ever does, B."

"Now what reason would they have to pick on Byron?" Michaela said, unable to believe anyone would deliberately hurt her precious son's feelings. She lifted him up on the wagon seat and climbed in.

Brian shrugged. "I'll go tell Katie we're leaving," he said.

Byron toyed with his loose shoelace as Michaela put him in her lap to make room for Cal. "Can I get some marbles?" the little boy spoke up quietly. "Can I get some, please, Cal?"

"Marbles?" Cal echoed, taking the reins in his hands.

"Yeah," Byron affirmed. "Everybody's pas give 'em pennies and then I go to Mr. Bway and get marbles. I want blue ones. An' red."

Cal glanced at Michaela for approval.

"Perhaps sometime, if that's what you really think you want," she said, stroking her son's hair worriedly. He was keeping something from them, but what, Michaela couldn't fathom.

& & &

Cal carried two steaming cups of coffee in his hand and walked on tiptoe down the hallway. Brian followed, and behind him Katie and Byron. Brian and Katie each carried a generous platter of scrambled eggs, sausages, and buttered toast with raspberry jam. His mouth fixed shut lest he be tempted to speak, Byron followed, holding two wooden trays as if they were a heavy stack of firewood.

"Shh…" Cal murmured, glancing back at the children as he pushed open the master bedroom door with his stocking foot. He placed the coffee cups on the nightstand and crawled onto the bed, kissing Michaela awake.

Surprised, Michaela's eyes opened quickly.

"Happy…half Anniversary," Cal whispered.

"Oh, sweetheart," she murmured.

The children entered the room, all smiles.

"Happy 'versary," Katie said with a giggle.

"What's all this?" Michaela asked, sitting up as she looked from one to the other.

Cal took the trays from Byron, placing one across Michaela's lap and the other on his side of the bed. "All this…is breakfast in bed."

"We all helped," Brian said, placing his plate on his mother's tray.

"Even me!" Byron exclaimed, climbing up onto the bed, followed by his sister. "I helped stir up the eggs."

Michaela kissed Katie and Byron and took Brian's hand. "Thank you. This is wonderful."

"You better taste it first," Cal said.

"You, too," Michaela invited, raising her eyebrows.

They each took a heaping spoonful of eggs.

"Mmm," Cal said.

"Delicious," Michaela added.

Byron eyed their plates, eyes wide.

"Did you eat?" Michaela asked.

"The three of us already did, don't worry, Ma," Brian assured her.

Michaela ticked Byron's chin and gave him a bite of the eggs. "Here, darling. You have to taste your own creation."

"…Mmm!" he giggled.

Cal sat on his side of the bed and placed the tray across his lap. "There's two special occasions today, actually," he began. "I got good news."

"Oh?" Michaela said curiously.

Cal smiled. "I'm putting an advertisement in the Gazette. Gonna hire two drivers for my streetcars. Got enough money now. I'll work in the office a lot more now, and won't get so tired and dirty."

"Oh, Cal," Michaela exclaimed. "You've been waiting for this day to come."

Katie rose to her knees. "Now ya won't come home all smelly!"

Byron pinched his nose. "Ew!" he laughed.

Cal growled and tickled the younger children, escalating their chortles.

Brian grinned and took his younger siblings' hands. "Come on. Let's let Ma an' Cal eat in peace."

Once the children had left the room, Michaela took the opportunity to thank Cal for the breakfast more intimately, linking her fingers with his and kissing him for a long moment.

"You're welcome," Cal murmured wryly.

Michaela smiled and took up her knife and fork, cutting one of the sausage links.

"Aren't ya excited, Mike?" he said, picking up a slice of toast. "Now, I can't pay 'em much, they'll have to know that, but I'm sure two young boys Brian's age would be happy to have their first job."

"Yes, I'm sure you'll have no trouble finding people," Michaela said half-heartedly.

"I'll be home more," he went on softly. "Won't have to do all the work myself. I'll be home more with ya, Michaela…I love being with ya."

She cleared her throat. "What about our new house?"

"Well, one thing at a time, darlin'," he replied. "The house is next on the list."

She nodded slowly. As much as she loved the homestead and the memories it sparked, every day she spent under its roof with Cal increased her uneasiness. She felt as if she were living in the crowded burrows of a ship, longing to break free from consuming claustrophobia. From the beginning, she had known that the best place for she and Cal was a home of their own, where they could build their own memories. She realized money was tight, but it seemed the only time Cal thought about their home was when she brought it up.

"It's just you don't seem very focused on it," she ventured softly.

Cal looked up, startled. "On what? Our house?"

"All you talk about is the streetcar business. It's all you think about," she said, voice unsteady. She hated arguments, especially when she was responsible for provoking them, but now that she had started, she couldn't stop.

"Mike," Cal murmured. "That ain't true. I'm gonna build us our home, soon as-"

"Soon as this, soon as that," Michaela retorted mockingly, laying her silverware across her plate. "When is &soon&?"

He took a deep breath, stroking her arm. "I'm sorry we couldn't have a house of our own when we first got married." He kissed her softly. "But I promise you I'm gonna save every penny from now on. We've got it off the ground, now we just gotta wait for the profit to come in. Won't be too long."

"I could help," she offered in a whisper. "I could save, too."

He shook his head. "This is my gift to you."

"You're just like Sully." She drew in her breath, uncertain whether voicing that particular thought had been the best idea.

Not knowing what to say, Cal picked up his toast and finished it in a few bites.

"I'm sorry," Michaela murmured at last. "I know you work hard. I'm being selfish."

"No," he told her, taking her hand. "This can't feel right to ya, living here. But really it won't be much longer, I promise." He kissed the back of her hand sweetly. "We got our troubles like everybody else, but things are looking up from here, Mike. Everything's turning out as perfect as I pictured it. Let's not think about things that are just gonna make ya upset. Everything always turns out all right in the end, hm?" He leaned forward and kissed her brow. "…I love you. I love you so much."

"Yes, you're right, and…" Michaela tilted her head up, pressing her lips to his. "I love you, too."

"Mmm. You taste like raspberry jam," he said wryly.

She ran her finger across his lips, eyes twinkling.

He cupped the back of her neck in his hand. "Well, it was my idea to have breakfast in bed. Now it's your turn. What do you wanna do?"

Michaela lips turned up into a crooked smile. "I know exactly what I'd like…no, love to do on our half anniversary."

Cal eyed her hesitantly. "What's that?"

Her eyes lit up from the very thought. "Let's go ice-skating."

to be continued...


	34. Chapter 47

Chapter Forty-seven

"Wasn't that wonderful?" Michaela exclaimed, out of breath as she sat on a fallen log to unlace her skates.

"Oh, yeah," Cal grumbled, lowering himself carefully beside her and stretching his stiff back. "It was great."

She laughed. "It isn't very good of me to put you through such agony."

He propped up his right foot on his opposite knee and began unlacing his skate. "I don't think agony's a strong enough word, Mike."

"You're not still upset about falling, are you?" Michaela questioned. "No one was here to see. And you are getting better, truthfully."

He pulled off his skate and laced up his boot. "I'm more upset you ain't being honest with me," he teased. "I'm getting worse at this, not better!"

She got down on her knees and helped him unlace his left skate. "You're not really upset," she told him with a crooked smile.

He caressed her cheek as she tied his boot. "…Got something for ya." He dug in his wool coat pocket, pulling out a wrinkled package wrapped in brown paper.

"We agreed we weren't going to get each other gifts," Michaela scolded. She resumed her seat beside him and reluctantly took the package.

"I know, but it ain't exactly just for you…it's for all of us. Just open it," he instructed.

Sighing, she unlaced the string and carefully tore open the package. "Oh," she said, somewhat puzzled.

"They're ice-skates," he explained with a smile.

"Yes, they're very small ice-skates," Michaela replied tentatively, holding then up. They were indeed the smallest pair of skates she had ever seen. They had to have been special ordered, designed for a child no more than two or three. "This is sweet of you, Cal, but Byron already has his own pair, and besides I think his feet are too big for these as it is. He isn't so tiny anymore."

He chuckled. "They ain't for Byron, Mike."

She hesitated. "No? Who are they for then?"

He took her hand. "Well…they're for our baby girl or boy, when we take 'em ice-skating someday."

Dreading this moment, but realizing it was bound to come up sooner rather than later, Michaela drew in her breath, not certain how to reply. "Our baby," she finally murmured.

"Yeah, don't that sound nice?" He stroked her palm with his thumb. "I've thought about it a lot, and I think we should start, well…trying."

"Cal...I don't know if now is such a good time. We're saving for a house. We've only just married."

"We've been married six months as I recall. Most couples, they get pregnant the first year, don't they? Seems as good a time as any. Seems as though babies, they make things even better. Michaela, wouldn't ya love to hold a baby in your arms again? I remember the first time I held Byron. I won't ever forget it. Wouldn't it be wonderful to have that again?"

She nodded uncertainly. "Yes, but..." She trailed off. There was that feeling again, that unexplainable uneasiness. It appeared just before she had married Cal, just before their honeymoon, and now whenever she considered the idea of a child. It was an overpowering force, one she wished she could control, one she knew she should be able to get the better of.

She hadn't told Cal that twice since their wedding, she had genuinely thought she might be pregnant, once late that summer, and the other just after Thanksgiving. She didn't tell him how terrified that had made her, and how each time, she had taken a morning off from the clinic to see Andrew, to be sure she was mistaken. What Andrew had interpreted as two great sighs of disappointment, were in fact sighs of immense relief. It was absurd, wasn't it? There was no reason she shouldn't begin a family with Cal. None. She closed her eyes and saw Sully smiling over Katie's half-completed cradle. She snapped her eyes open, willing the image to disappear.

"I'd be somebody's pa," Cal went on, eyes glazed over. "I'd be so good to it, Mike. I'd give it everything I could. I don't wanna be a thing like my own pa. I'd never ever hurt it, I swear it."

"Of course you wouldn't," Michaela assured him softly, squeezing his hand. She paused. "And you already are someone's pa, Cal. Three someones."

He lowered his eyes. "It ain't the same, Mike."

"Why isn't it?" she demanded, frustrated. She had been waiting for the right time to bring up the issue, and now seemed appropriate.

"Because," he murmured, "because…I'm their friend. I always have been."

"You can be both," Michaela told him. "You can be their friend and a parent to them as well. You're the only 'pa' Byron and Katie have ever known."

"No, Mike. It wouldn't be fair to them," he went on quietly. "And it wouldn't be fair to you. I just can't feel right about it. I ain't ready for that kinda thing."

"You're ready for us to have a baby, yet you're not ready to be a father to the children we already have," Michaela said somewhat curtly.

"Michaela, you know it's different," he insisted. "Don't pretend ya don't see. Ya can't change their blood."

"I wasn't aware blood was so important," Michaela said. "I always thought it didn't matter."

"Then ya want the kids to forget Sully?" Cal questioned. "Or the older kids, ya want them to deny their father?"

"I didn't say that," Michaela said, tears suddenly springing to her eyes.

"Blood matters," he said simply. He softened his tone, squeezing her hand tight. "I love your children so much. More than ya know. But Mike, I got so much love in me, I want to share that with a baby that's part of the two of us, and part of our whole family. That's what I've dreamed of, having a family with the most amazing woman I've ever known. With you, Mike…Our baby would be the luckiest kid ever, having you for its mama."

The tears Michaela had been struggling to hold back spilled down her cheeks. Cal had never asked anything of her, and now the one thing he wanted, she was reluctant to give.

He put his arm around her comfortingly. "Please, darlin'. Tell me what you're thinking. Tell me what's wrong. Are ya scared? Ya did so beautiful with Byron. Ya did so good. You remember. And it was all over before we knew it, hm? Don't worry, I'm gonna be right there with ya again. I won't let anything happen, I promise."

She shook her head. "No, it's not that." She closed her eyes, resting her head against his chest. "I know you want this."

"You want it, too," he encouraged, rubbing her back.

"...If we have a baby, I'll have to cut back on my hours at the clinic," she said softly.

He nodded. "Sure. We can do that. We'll figure things out."

"We need the money," she pointed out. "We can't afford to have the clinic open for any less time than it is now. And of course after the baby is born, if I leave it with a sitter, that's going to cost money."

"I'll look after it while you're at the clinic," Cal offered.

"You'll drive a baby around in a streetcar all day?" Michaela asked. "We have so much to plan out before we decide to do this."

He scratched his chin. "Well...I...Mike, look, things are gonna work out. I promise. I don't want ya worrying about things like that."

"Cal, I've done this twice before. It's always harder than you think. The clinic is no place for an infant, I quickly found out with Katie, exposing her to God knows what. I need to be home caring for the child."

"So I'll work more, and then you'll be able stay home with it 'til it's older," he replied simply. He kissed her temple. "…We don't have to talk about this any more right now if ya don't want." He raised his eyebrows. "…I love you." He cupped her flushed cheek in his hand. "That's what's important."

She wrapped her arms around him. "Oh, Cal. I'm sorry. It's just, I don't think we should decide this right away. Having a baby...that isn't something I take lightly. We'd be bringing a new life into the world. Things should be perfect for it. Please, understand."

"Things &are& perfect, as far as I can tell," he murmured, kissing her head adoringly.

She pulled back. "We should think about it some more, before we make any rash decisions. There's no cause to hurry things."

Relenting, Cal stroked her hair from her eyes. It wasn't going to help anything to pressure her. She would see, hopefully before long, that a baby would be nothing but wonderful for them. "All right. You're right. We've never rushed anything before and…and that's been a good thing."

"You &wanted& to rush the wedding," Michaela teased shyly.

He tickled her stomach and she let out a chortle, pushing his hands away. "So did you, Mike, and don't think you can fool me!"

She grew serious, grasping the tassels of his scarf and bringing his lips to hers. "I love you, too, Cal. Nothing can change that."

He nodded, swallowing hard. "I know, darlin'."

Michaela gave him a warm hug, kissing his cheek. "We'll think about it some more, I promise." She owed him that, she thought, though she couldn't see how any more time would make her feel better about the idea. Six months time certainly hadn't changed anything.

"Me, too," Cal whispered, squeezing her tight.

& & &

"And Cal gave me three whole pennies for them," Byron went on excitedly. "Wanna see Miz Gwace?"

Grace chuckled and rested her coffee pitcher on the table. "I would love to, pumpkin!"

"Byron, they'll roll all over the table," Michaela groaned.

"Here, Byron, you hold out your hands and I'll pour the marbles into them," Dorothy suggested from her seat across from the two.

Agreeably, Byron carefully opened the leather pouch Cal had given him, handed it across to Dorothy, and cupped his hands together as she emptied its contents into them.

"Ooo, those &are& pretty," Grace told him, putting her hands on her knees and leaning over the table. "Let's see, we've got red, yellow, orange, and-"

"Blue!" Byron squealed. "They pwetty. Cal gave me pennies and I got 'em."

Grace patted his head, smiling at Michaela. "Sounds like things are going just fine out at the Brooks' place," she remarked.

Michaela nodded politely as Grace refilled her coffee cup. "Thank you," she said.

"Well, it's back to work for me," Grace said, once hand on her hip. "G'day, ladies, Mr. Sully."

"G'day, Miz Gwace!" Byron said. He took his pouch and began placing the marbles back into it, one at a time, at once oblivious to the happenings around him.

"You don't seem your usual self, Michaela," Dorothy remarked worriedly. "You're quiet. You seem tired."

Michaela sipped her coffee. "I'm afraid I haven't been getting much sleep."

"Oh," Dorothy chuckled. "Well, you're still newlyweds."

Michaela reddened. "Dorothy!" she reproached.

Dorothy only chuckled. "I'm sorry, Michaela." She grew serious. "You really don't look well. Just because you're a doctor doesn't mean you can't come down with something."

"I'm just tired, that's all," Michaela insisted. "I've been…I've been having dreams at night."

"Dreams?" Dorothy questioned.

"Nightmares," Michaela clarified. "I'm afraid to sleep at night, and as a result I'm exhausted during the day." She hesitated, uncertain how much to reveal to her friend. "The nightmares…they're about Sully."

"Oh, dear. Well, what does Cal think?" Dorothy asked.

"I haven't told him," she admitted. "They've been persisting for a few weeks now. I keep waiting for them to end. The longer I wait the worse they become."

"Maybe you're…" Dorothy said, a suggestion of a smile at the corner of her lips.

Michaela grimaced, shaking her head.

Sensing something from her friend's reaction, Dorothy drew in her breath. She probed her eyes further. "…You don't want to be pregnant," she said, surprised.

"No, I..." She hesitated. "I don't know anymore."

"You can tell me, Michaela," Dorothy assured her.

Michaela sighed. "Cal keeps bringing it up, and I keep coming up with excuses as to why we shouldn't," she admitted.

"And why shouldn't you?" Dorothy said.

Michaela shrugged. "No reason whatsoever…except…every fiber in my being is telling me ¬& to do it. That I'm not prepared for this."

"I suppose that's normal," Dorothy reassured her. "You're just getting used to being married again. It's a big change. Thinkin' about a baby on top of all that has got to be just too much."

"But Cal's so excited about it," Michaela murmured. "He wants one so…and I feel terrible. I should be able to give this to him."

Dorothy nodded slowly. "You will, Michaela, when the time's right. Now just ain't the right time."

"But what do I tell Cal?" Michaela murmured.

"Tell him what you told me," Dorothy suggested. "Tell him about the dreams."

She shook her head. "I can't do that. He'll be hurt. No, Dorothy. I need to come to terms with this. This is all ridiculous. I should want a baby as much as he. I need to reason with myself."

"From the way things sound, you've already tried that," Dorothy said quietly.

Abruptly, Michaela rose from the table. "I should get back to the clinic." She took Byron's hand. "Time to go, Brynie."

"But Mama, I am countin' my marbles," he told her, irritated.

"You can count your marbles at the clinic, but I won't crawl under my desk any more to look for the ones you drop. That's a promise."

"Michaela," Dorothy said, grasping her hand. "…Take care of yourself."

"I'm fine," Michaela said defensively. She softened. "Good day, Dorothy. Thank you for the coffee."

"Good day," Dorothy sighed.

& & &

Byron sat himself at the base of the porch stairs and emptied his pouch of marbles at his feet. He selected a small stick and drew a circle in the dust, as he had seen the older children do, and caringly placed the marbles inside the circle, one at a time. Once he was finished, he rose to his feet and peered up at the roof where Cal was working. He had climbed up the ladder to the roof with a couple big long brushes, explaining something about cleaning the chimney. Byron wished he'd do that some other time, and come on down and play with him, teach him how to play marbles like the big kids did.

"Cal!" he called. "When ya gonna be done up there?"

Cal stood up on the roof and spotted the little boy. "Gotta do this, Squirt. You sit there an' play. Don't go climbing up the ladder. In fact you'd better just stay away from it all together, all right?"

"…All right," Byron grumbled, reluctantly obeying. He resumed his seat just as Brian and Katie came out the front door, Wolf on a leash in front of them.

Byron immediately stood up, bursting into a smile. "Brian! Katie! Play marbles with me!"

Brian tousled his hair. "Sorry, B. Ma wants us to walk the dog."

"Oh," he sighed.

"She's getting under Mama's feet," Katie explained.

"Underfoot, Kate," Brian chuckled.

"Yeah. And Mama said get her out 'fore she goes crazy!" the little girl giggled.

Byron giggled softly. "Bad Wolfy." He pet Wolf's disheveled hair as the dog gave a bark and licked his hand with her rough tongue.

"You can come walk, too," Katie encouraged.

"…No, guess not," Byron sighed, sitting back down and resting his chin in his hands.

Katie stooped down and gave him a hug. "That's all right," she told him sweetly.

"We'll be back by suppertime, B.," Brian assured him as they began their walk, Wolf in the lead and pulling Katie along by the leash.

Byron heaved another sigh, staring at his marbles. He looked up at the roof again. Cal…his papa would play with him, if he asked nicely. He would just go up there and ask him to come down…

"Byron, no, no!" Cal called. He carefully but hurriedly made his way down the roof and to the ladder, then climbed down and around Byron, who had climbed three rungs off the ground and was half-way to the forth. "What did I tell ya?" Cal said angrily, lifting the child off the ladder and into his arms. "What do ya think you're doing?" he demanded. "What did Cal tell ya? I said you're not to climb up on this ladder for any reason!"

Suddenly, the little boy burst into tears. "I s-sorry," he sniveled.

"Oh…don't cry, little guy." Cal carried him over to the porch, sat on the top step and put him in his lap, hugging him close. "It's all right. I just don't want ya getting hurt." He swallowed hard. "Couldn't live with myself if ya ever got hurt," he added quietly.

Gradually, Byron calmed. He drew in his breath shakily and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. "Why ya gotta go up there?" he asked. "I want ya to play with me. You can teach me 'bout marbles."

Cal cleared his throat. "Well, we gotta sweep out the chimney every so often. It gets dirty just like everything else. It's real important we keep it clean."

"Why?" Byron asked.

Cal shrugged. "Well, because…because normally the smoke and other things from the fire floats up the chimney and outside where it can't hurt us. But if the chimney ain't clean, bad air can get trapped inside where it shouldn't be, and if we breathe it in that ain't good for us at all. It'll make us real terrible sick."

Byron pondered it a moment. "I wanna help ya," he said at last. "I help keep it clean."

"I know ya do," Cal murmured. "But this ain't the kinda job where I need a lotta help, see. It's a…a one-person job. I know, you can help your mama inside with supper. Now don't that sound fun, being with your mama?"

"No," he replied simply, grasping Cal's shirt. "I wanna be wid &you&, Papa."

Taken aback for a moment, Cal let out a deep sigh. "Byron…no, ya can't call me that. Ya can't be calling me that."

"How come?" Byron asked quietly.

"'Cause I'm just Cal," he told him softly. "Your real papa, Sully, he's in heaven, you know that."

Byron narrowed his brow angrily. Just when he finally had a papa, this Sully person had to ruin it. "Sull-wee…Sull-wee in hell rottin' in the cweek!" he exclaimed suddenly.

Shocked, Cal gripped his arms. "Where'd you hear that? Where'd you hear that, son?" he demanded.

Byron sniffled, clenching his hands in fists. "Aaron said so!"

"Well, Aaron's very, very wrong," Cal told him firmly.

"I hate him!" Byron went on, not convinced. "I hate Sull-wee!"

"Don't you say that, Byron. Don't you ever say that," he told him sternly. "Sully loves you and you love him, too."

"But I never even see him!" he insisted. "Mama say papas give hugs and have whiskas and are nice. Sull-wee don't ever hugs me! I hate him!" He desperately tried to control his quivering lip. "He hates me," he added softly.

Cal was speechless. He had no idea how upset Byron was over this. Even at four, the child had experienced the same hurt, confusion, and sorrow as any adult experienced following grave loss. The difference was no one had thought to ask the little boy how &he& felt about losing a father, even though they had never met. Cal paused. That was exactly it. Because Byron had never known Sully, he had always assumed the child couldn't have been harmed by such a tragedy. He had been greatly mistaken.

Cal gave him a tight, warm hug. "Know what? It's all right to be sad, Squirt. It's all right to have those feelings. It's tough losing your pa, ain't it?"

"It tough," Byron quivered, burying his head beneath Cal's neck.

"I'd love for ya to call me 'Papa'," Cal went on, "but I don't think we should do that, 'cause Sully's up in heaven loving you with all his heart, that I promise you, and it just wouldn't be fair to him. And ya can't be calling me that just 'cause you're upset with him."

Byron rubbed his eyes with his fists. "Why can't you be my pa?" he asked. "Then them kids don't be mean to me 'cause then I have a weal pa."

Cal hugged him tighter. "Tell ya what, next time those kids are mean to ya, you come straight to me. Cal will take care of it just as good as any pa could."

"You will?" Byron asked softly.

"I will," Cal affirmed.

"Cal…is my pa bad?" Byron went on softly.

"Is your pa...?" Cal nodded behind him. "See this house, Byron?"

Byron looked up at the homestead. "Yeah."

"Know who built it?"

"Sull-wee?" Byron ventured, recalling his mother telling him about that.

"That's right. And know why he built it? 'Cause he loved your mama &so& much, he wanted to give her the best gift he could. Sully's love for her, why, it's as big as this house."

"Whoa, it's big," Byron murmured in wonder.

Cal smiled. "How could anyone who loved your mama that much be bad, hm?" He kissed his head. "Sully, your papa, was a very good man, Byron. The truth is…no one is sure what happened when he died, but we do know he was helping other folks, Indians like Cloud Dancing, just like he'd always done. Sometimes, people say things, even mean things, without knowing all the facts. It can hurt our feelings, but we just gotta remember they don't know anything. You say that to yourself the next time that happens. Say, those kids don't know a thing about my pa, and just walk away and come get Cal. They ain't worth talking to if they're saying mean things like that."

Byron sniffled. "…All right," he agreed.

"That's a good boy," Cal murmured. He paused. "…I love ya, little guy."

"I love ya, Cal," Byron whispered, hugging his waist.

Michaela stepped forward, swiping tears from her eyes. She had opened the door several minutes before, remaining unnoticed until now. "Supper's on the table," she spoke quietly.

Surprised, Cal looked up. He placed Byron on his feet and gave his bottom a pat. "Go on, Squirt. Get washed up." He rose to follow the little boy inside, but Michaela caught his arm, stopping him.

"You're wonderful with him," she said.

He pretended not to notice her tear-streaked cheeks. "Wasn't anything," he muttered.

"I wish you would do it more often. He needs you," she went on, disregarding his remark. "He looks up to you."

"Don't know why," Cal said, still unwilling to accept it.

"Oh, I do," Michaela told him with a small smile. "…You can still be a father to him," she added, "even if you'd rather he not call you 'papa'."

Cal let out a sigh and nodded reluctantly. He took her hand, kissing her cheek. "Let's eat."

to be continued...


	35. Chapter 48

Chapter Forty-eight

Michaela and Cloud Dancing continued their meanderings on the outskirts of the reservation along the beaten path in the woods. Their conversation was light, their pace leisurely, and Michaela was reminded of the times when they had first met, when Cloud Dancing would often walk with her, telling her the stories of his People.

"The children are well?" the Indian asked, his hands folded in front of him.

"Yes, very," Michaela replied. "Katie and Brian are thriving in school. And Byron's asthma seems better, with the help of stramonium."

"He has the strength of his father," he remarked.

"Yes," Michaela agreed softly. "Oh, I nearly forgot." She snapped open the clasps on her medical bag and pulled out a small leather pouch. "I was gathering herbs the other day, and I found one I'm uncertain of. I was hoping you could help me identify it." She handed him the pouch.

"I'll do my best," he said, pausing in their stroll. He reached in and gently pulled out a handful of the herb: little flowers each containing dark green leaves, three prominent sepals and three larger, withering pale yellow petals. He ran his bronzed fingers delicately over the leaves, then held it to his nose and inhaled deeply. Michaela watched him with admiration. She wished she could show the flowers as much respect as he did. When she saw an herb she needed she would tear the plant from the ground by its roots and shove it into her satchel. It would end up ground into a powder or torn up for tea leaves anyway, so what did it matter? Watching Cloud Dancing made her want to pay greater attention to the herbs, take in their shape and color, and eventually be able to name any one she saw.

Cloud Dancing handed her a flower, and she held it delicately in her hands, having a new regard for it.

"This is called bethroot," he explained. "Like a lily, but it is not." He pointed to one of the leaves. "Taste it," he encouraged.

Michaela pressed a leaf tentatively to her tongue, her eyebrows narrowing. "Sharp and bitter. Is it good for anything?"

"Nothing was put on this earth without a purpose," he replied. "Make the leaves into a tea, and it helps with stomach sores. Ulcers. And if you boil the roots in milk..." he went on.

"What does that help with?" Michaela encouraged.

He averted his eyes as he tried to think of the word. "For...for a patient who...can't control...can't control themselves?"

"Oh...diarrhea?" Michaela stammered.

The Indian nodded happily. "Yes, yes...works wonders." He laughed at the white man's saying. "Works wonders."

"Maybe I should be taking notes," Michaela said, reaching into her bag.

He placed his hand atop hers, stilling it. "No. You must learn to keep what I teach you in your head, and hold onto it."

"How does one do that?" she asked uncertainly.

"You will learn," he told her.

"How much more do I have to learn?" she moaned, chuckling.

"Too much...but not as much as before," he added with a grin.

Michaela placed the herbs back in the pouch carefully. "Thank you, Cloud Dancing."

Cloud Dancing gazed at her knowingly. "Is this the only reason you came to see me?"

Michaela lowered her eyes as they continued their stroll. "Well...I..."

"The marriage is good?" he prompted.

"Yes, in many ways," she replied simply, unsure how to explain. "...Cal wants to try for a baby," she at last blurted.

Cloud Dancing's expression remained unreadable. "This is good news."

Michaela wasn't sure whether he was making a statement or asking a question. "I suppose," she responded non-committedly. They walked in silence for several paces, each with their own thoughts. Finally, Michaela drew in her breath. "I'm content with the way things are. I'm content with my husband, my family, the life I've re-built. Cal is a father to my children now, but it's different for him. I suppose I can understand that. I love Brian and the older children dearly, but when Katie was born...it felt different. It was a feeling I've never known before."

"She was a part of you and of Sully," Cloud Dancing pointed out.

Michaela nodded. "...Cloud Dancing, I don't want another baby like Cal does. The idea alone frightens me so. I keep thinking about Sully. I even have dreams about him. In my dreams...Sully reaches out to me, but I can't hold onto his hand. I let him fall. I just let him fall. It makes absolutely no sense."

Cloud Dancing pondered her words. "...Marriage is a partnership. You each bring gifts to it; each make sacrifices, out of love for the other. This makes a good marriage."

"Then I should give Cal a child," she interpreted reluctantly.

Cloud Dancing held up his hand. "Until you make peace with the past, you should not take this step," he said.

Michaela bent her head, a lump in her throat. "I thought I already had made peace with it. I don't understand this."

"Michaela, your love for Cal is not being questioned. That is not the root of your fears," he reassured her.

She looked up hopefully. "Then where is this fear coming from, Cloud Dancing?"

"You must be the one to search your heart for the answer," he advised softly. "The Spirits say the reason for these dreams will make itself known. Soon, it will make itself known. You will have your answer."

Michaela sighed. "I hope so." She felt her eyes well with tears. "Cloud Dancing, Cal's given me everything. He's always placed me and my family first, has never done anything without regard to us. Now he's asking one thing of me, the only thing he's ever asked...and all I can think about is Sully."

"This marriage can't be the same as what you had with Sully," Cloud Dancing told her. "You and Sully were one spirit. That spirit will never die. But you and Cal have formed a new spirit, and the feelings are strong. Different, but strong. It will not be easy, finding the answer to this. But you will find it."

Michaela didn't reply for some time, then at last, she spoke. "Dorothy says the time isn't right now, for our baby. But she's certain I'll know when the time &is& right."

"Dorothy speaks with great wisdom," replied the medicine man, looking Michaela in the eyes. Michaela paused in her tracks, but Cloud Dancing continued on, leaving his brother's wife to ponder his words.

& & &

"Sully!" A bloodcurdling scream shattered the wee hours of the morning. Michaela bolted upright in bed, eyes wide with terror, her nightgown clinging to her body, damp with perspiration.

With a deep sigh, Cal pushed himself into a sitting position and wrapped his arms around his wife. "Shh...darlin'." He pressed her head against his chest. "It's all right. Ya were just dreaming," he crooned softly, as he had nearly every night for the past several weeks.

Michaela swallowed hard, clinging to him and trying to catch her breath. Cal tenderly pushed a tendril of hair out of her eyes. It tore him apart to see her like this. He rocked her gently as she began to shudder in his arms. Finally, the trembling eased and she calmed.

"You were dreaming about Sully again, weren't ya?" he asked softly.

She looked up at him, startled. "How did you know?" she asked hoarsely.

"...Ya cry out for him," he murmured, unable to disguise the hurt in his voice. "Ya cry out for him in your sleep. It's been happening for weeks now."

She nodded reluctantly. "...I let him go, Cal," she told him shakily. "He reached for me...and I let him slip through my fingers." Struck by the pain in his eyes, she lowered her head. "I'm sorry. I know how much this must hurt you."

He took her hand, squeezing it tight. "I just hate seeing ya torment yourself like this."

Michaela relished the protection and comfort of his arm around her waist, her hand firmly clasped in his. She felt safe in Cal's arms, safe to finally admit what had been plaguing her heart for weeks. It was a great relief to have it out in the open, yet painful as well, knowing how much Cal had to be wounded by her words. "I don't understand why this is happening now," she began. "It's been four years."

"Maybe," Cal ventured hesitantly, not sure how she would react to what he was about to say, "maybe it's a sign your heart is ready to let go of the pain and..." He took a deep breath. "And move on."

"Move on?" she echoed. "Cal, we've been married for six months. How much further on do I have to move?"

He sighed. "I mean start a family of our own."

She stared at their joined hands. It had been a long while since he had first brought up the subject, yet time, as Michaela had feared, had not lessened her uneasiness. "Cal..."

Stroking her hair, he tried once more. "Mike, ya know how much I love Katie and Byron. And Brian, too. I couldn't love them any more if they were my own."

She nodded slowly but made no comment.

"So it's not 'cause of any lack of feeling for them that I want this." He brought her hand to his lips, kissing her fingers tenderly. "I love you and I want to have a child with you, one that's part of us, of our love. Mike, there ain't anything more for us to think over." He waited for her to speak, his breath held.

For a long moment, she remained silent, lost in her thoughts. She felt terrible. Cal had saved her life, given her everything, and offered unconditional love. He was her most trusted friend, her husband, and her lover. She'd mourned Sully, she knew she would always love him, but she had moved on, or so she had thought. Again, she asked herself why: Why can't I give this to him? Finally, she turned to him.

"I..." She paused, taking a deep breath. "I wish I could explain. I just don't know if I'm ready." Her eyes pleaded for understanding.

Frustrated, his hold on her hand loosened. "Darlin', ya've been saying that for ages now. Just when are ya gonna be ready?"

She opened her mouth to reply, but he went on.

"Or maybe the truth is you'll never be ready, that ya don't want a child with me, ever." He barely paused to take a breath. "I'm sorry I'm not Sully. I'm sorry that ya lost him, but there's nothing I can do about that. Sometimes...I'm jealous of him even."

Michaela's mouth dropped open in astonishment. "Jealous? Cal," she breathed, disconcerted.

"Yeah," he affirmed, "I know it sounds crazy, but ya cared for him so much. I guess I wish...I wish ya could love me like ya did him." He immediately regretted his words, especially after seeing the pain they had inflicted on Michaela.

"I do love you, sweetheart," she whispered tearfully. "I do love you. Don't do this. Tell me that's not what you've been thinking all this time."

"Michaela, I can't compete with a ghost. You know I'd give ya the world. I know ya cared for Sully deeply, and if I could bring him back I would." He looked into her eyes, now glistening with tears. "But I can't," he continued, almost pleadingly. "Sully's gone, but I'm here. &We're& here, and...the time is right to move on."

She remained silent for several moments, gathering her thoughts. She never imagined after losing Sully she would ever love again, but now she was married again with a new beginning. Cal had said he would bring Sully back if he could, and she knew that he truly meant that. She cupped his cheeks in her hands, tears flowing.

"Cal, we have a new life now, one I wouldn't give up for anything."

He looked up hopefully.

"It's true," she went on, "I did love Sully, but you're right, &we're& here, and we've built something wonderful together."

He stroked her arm guiltily. "Michaela...I'm sorry. I could never force ya to do something ya don't feel right about. I don't care about anything, except having you in my arms."

She smiled and stroked his cheek. "...Let's have our baby," she whispered.

He blinked disbelievingly.

She kissed his cheek lovingly. "Let's have our baby," she repeated

"...Mike. Ya sure? Don't do this if you don't want to."

She kissed him again, certain she was doing the right thing. True, she would never desire another child as much as Cal did, but what she did want more than anything was to see him happy. He'd done so much for her, he deserved this, she loved him, and..."You're right. It's time to move on," she told him.

He pulled her into his arms, holding her close. "I love you, Michaela. You don't have to do this."

"I want to," she told him tearfully, stroking his hair behind his ears. "Cal...I can't promise anything. You need to know that with Katie and Byron...it took some time before I became pregnant. Trying for a baby, it can be exhausting..."

"But ya didn't give up," he finished, undaunted, "and we won't either," he told her. "And it'll happen. I know it will."

"Mama, what's wrong? I hear ya cryin'."

Michaela and Cal broke apart. Katie stood in the doorway, thumb in her mouth, a fat tear trickling down her flushed cheek. Hastily, Michaela gathered her composure and held her arms out for her daughter. Katie ran to her embrace, climbing up onto the bed and letting out a soft sob.

"Sweetheart, it's all right," Michaela assured her, pressing her lips to her head as she rocked her gently. "Mama's fine. I had a bad dream, that's all, just like you do sometimes."

"You dream about monsters, too?" the little girl asked in amazement, her weeping having ceased.

Michaela smiled through her tears. "Well, not monsters exactly, but my bad dreams frighten me just the same."

Katie patted her mother's hand soothingly. "It's all right, Mama. I'll stay with ya 'til the bad dreams go away," she said, echoing words her mother had used so many times to reassure her.

Michaela and Cal looked at each other, holding back their chuckles.

Katie noticed the smiles on their faces. "What'd I say? I made ya happy, Mama?"

Cal rubbed her back as Michaela tenderly stroked her daughter's hair. "You make me very happy, my darling, more than you'll ever know."

Katie grinned proudly. Looking up at Cal, she informed him, "I make Mama happy. She won't cry no more."

Cal tickled her chest. "Ya make both of us happy, Princess."

The little girl giggled and curled up, enjoying the attention.

Suddenly, a little voice piped up from the doorway. "I come in, too?"

Michaela looked up, smiling and holding her hand out to Byron. "Yes, you may come in, too." She hoisted him up onto the bed and into her lap beside his sister. Byron enthusiastically gave his mother a hug.

"Mornin', Mama!" he said.

"Mmm, morning, Brynie," Michaela replied, kissing him lovingly.

Katie gave a momentary frown, realizing her special time with Mama and Cal was ending. Cal noticed the look of dismay on her face and reached to lift Byron from his mother, seating him between himself and Michaela.

"Hey, little guy, what's got ya up so early, hmm?" Cal asked the squirming four-year-old.

In response, Byron reached up and threw his arms around Cal's neck. "Morning, Cal!"

"Seems both of our little ones are in need of some extra attention this morning," Michaela murmured.

"What's 'tention, Mama?" queried Katie, toying with the lace on Michaela's bodice.

Michaela chuckled. "Attention, Katie," she repeated, leaning back against the headboard and cradling Katie in her lap. "It means, um...when someone listens to you and is so interested in what you're saying they don't hear or think of other things.

"Oh," the little girl replied, happily resting her head beneath Michaela's neck. "I like 'tension, Mama."

"Yes, so do I," Michaela laughed. "And right now you have my undivided attention."

"Good." Suddenly frowning, the child said, "What am I s'pose to talk about?"

"So she don't take after her mother in every way," Cal said wryly.

"Very funny," Michaela replied with a grin. She felt relieved she and Cal had finally come to a mutual decision about having a baby, and at that moment, truly happy. She had the two most special people in her life cuddled in bed between she and Cal. Nothing was better.

& & &

The prisoner waited until after lunch, when the guards started to get drowsy from full stomachs, and then slowly and nonchalantly passed around the tiny key to the other men. The day before, Jack had tucked it inconspicuously in an old book of poetry and handed it through the bars to him. With that Jack had mouthed a silent "good luck" and went on his way. The prisoner wondered if he would ever see the old librarian again, if the man would ever know how appreciative he was for what he had done for all of them.

He and five other prisoners had been assigned to remove rocks and boulders from an area that would soon become an addition to the prison. It was hot, arduous work, but as Jack had pointed out several times during the organization of their escape, with only one guard in direct supervision of the men, it was the perfect opportunity to break away.

Once each prisoner had unlocked their chains they waited for the signal from Five-twenty, a passionate and determined young man who also had a family he pined for back home. He had been informally appointed in charge of the escape, as it had been his idea in the first place. At last he raised his arm, and the six turned on the guard. Using their chains as weapons, they pinned him to the ground and knocked him unconscious before he had the chance to speak.

The prisoner strangled him about the neck with his filthy, rusted chains. He growled and cried out, enraged over having lost four years of his life in the unbearable prison and looking to release that anger in whatever form he could.

"Kill him!" one of his fellow prisoners urged, his hands in fists.

"Kill him, Two-o-four, or I will!" cried another.

The prisoner yanked the chains harder, but suddenly found himself utterly incapable of slaughter. With a warlike cry, he released the chains and bounded to his feet. "No time for this," he muttered weakly. "Get to the river!"

"He's right!" Five-twenty agreed. "Run, men! Run!"

Finally freed from their chains, the prisoner ran toward the river. Every muscle in his body worked toward getting to the water and to the canoes filled with supplies Jack had left for them earlier that morning. He inhaled deeply, perspiration dampening his brow in the hot desert sun. It was amazing, how different it felt to breathe without chains, to move his limbs freely, to stretch his legs and sprint. It was terrifying; it felt wonderful.

Within the minute the rest of the guards had discovered their escape. Shots rang out behind them and bells of alarm echoed in their ears, but the prisoner knew he had made it. Jumping into his canoe with two other men, the slightest smile appeared at his lips. He picked up his paddle and rowed with fierce strength. He was going home, at last.

to be continued...


	36. Chapter 49

Chapter Forty-nine

"Ready or not, here I come!" Cal shouted, his voice echoing throughout the dense woods. He looked behind a few trees, a rock, and under some fallen branches. "By-ron!" he sang, "where are you?"

Byron stared at the man quietly, as he had been for the past several seconds upon coming across him. He was filthy, disheveled, dressed in faded, tattered rags and hidden by a scruffy beard and scraggly, tangled dark hair. His appearance was frightening, but strangely, the child was not intimidated. The man had stuck a fishing pole in the muddy bank, letting the line float in the water, but he wasn't watching for a bite. He sat Indian-style, his hands resting on his knees, palms up, and his head was tilted toward the sky, face relaxed and eyes closed.

"What ya doing?" Byron queried curiously, thumbs hooked in his suspenders.

The man spun around, startled. He met the intense blue eyes of the little boy, and suddenly, he couldn't speak. A strange tingle crept up and down his spine. He squinted, studying the child. "I...uh," he finally stammered, "I'm prayin'."

"Prayin'?" Byron echoed.

He nodded. "What are you doin' way out here, son?"

"Playing. Playing hide 'n' seek with my papa," Byron told him simply.

The man looked into the child's eyes again, gooseflesh rising on his chin. The boy was beautiful; there was no doubt about that. Perhaps that was why he felt such a shiver.

"Byron!" Cal called, appearing from the dense trees and lifting the little boy into his arms. "There ya are!"

"Byron?" the man echoed with an amused, crooked smile.

Cal noticed the fisherman for the first time. "Well, hey stranger."

He nodded, his eyes remaining focused on the child. "Hey."

"Catch anything?" Cal queried, eyeing the fishing pole.

He shrugged, scratching his thick, unkempt beard. "Not t' speak of."

"Hm. Well, they don't bite much in the afternoon. Gotta get up real early for the best catch."

The man swiped a fly from his eyes as he gathered courage. "Ya live in Colorado Springs?" he asked softly.

Cal nodded. "Wife and I live a couple miles from town."

The man paused, as if contemplating whether to voice his thoughts. "This your boy?" he finally asked, standing up. He searched for a similarity between father and child, turning up nothing save perhaps their personality: friendly, inquisitive, and genuinely content with life.

Cal beamed, tickling Byron's chin. "Who, Squirt here? Naw, the cat dragged this one in. His ma and I decided we might as well keep him."

Byron giggled, pushing against Cal's chest. "You're silly! I was a baby in Mama's tummy!" he insisted. "Now I'm big," he informed the fisherman proudly.

The man grinned. He sure was a sweet little boy. "Byron's your name, son?"

Byron nodded, sticking a thumb in his mouth. "Yep. Bywon."

"I like it," he said, chuckling.

"Yep," Byron replied.

Cal glanced up at the sky. "Well, it's getting late, little guy. Best get ya home to your mama." He placed Byron on his feet. "See ya around," he told the man, and then turned back to the woods, taking the boy's hand.

"See ya," the man called softly.

Byron squeezed Cal's hand tight, looking up at him lovingly, and then cranked his head around, gazing back at the stranger. "...Bye!" he called, eyes twinkling.

The man gave him a little wave. "Bye," he whispered hoarsely.

&&&

"Mmm, that smells good," Cal said, entering the kitchen and running his hand down his wife's back lovingly.

Michaela spooned broth once more over the roast beef, and then turned to kiss him. "How was your walk?"

"Squirt ran me all over the place, as usual," he chuckled. "...We came across a man, fishing, sitting way out in those woods all by himself."

"Oh?" She picked up a towel and opened the oven door to check on the biscuits.

"He was awful strange-looking," he murmured. "Long hair, thick beard, clothes falling apart, eyes swollen like he hadn't slept in days. Poor fella'."

"Perhaps he's a trapper," Michaela remarked, determining the biscuits were done and placing them on the stovetop. "A trapper who hasn't caught anything," she added, opening the icebox.

"Awful cold time of year to be trapping," Cal replied. He smiled, watching Michaela labor so meticulously over the preparations for dinner. He enfolded his arms around her and pulled her to him.

"What can I do to help?" he asked, the mere sight of his wife filling him with happiness.

"You can sit down," she bid, turning and pulling out a chair for him, "and enjoy your day off. You work too hard."

"I think &you& work too hard," Cal replied, reluctantly taking a seat. "You've overslept near every day this week. Are ya...are ya feeling all right, Mike?" he asked hopefully.

She turned back to the stove, knowing what he meant and slightly uncomfortable. "We've only just begun trying, Cal. We've talked about not getting our hopes up so soon-"

"I know that," he murmured. He rose and walked to her side once more. "I just wanna know why you haven't been feeling well."

"I feel fine," she said irritably, opening a drawer and gathering the silverware. "I haven't been oversleeping, it's you who have been waking earlier than usual, wanting to be at work at the crack of dawn."

"That's so I can be home earlier," he whispered tenderly. "So's I can be with you. I love you, darlin'."

"I don't know how I put up with you," Michaela informed him, a teasing grin at her lips.

He kissed her cheek, taking the silverware from her. "You married me. Now you're stuck with me," he replied.

She couldn't help but smile. "If only I knew what I was getting into."

He gave her waist a squeeze and then began setting the table. "I got a surprise for ya. For all of us actually."

Her eyes lit up expectantly. "You're going to start on our house?"

He sobered. "Well, no. I mean yeah, real soon, but that wasn't what I was gonna say."

"Oh," she sighed. She cleared her throat. "What were you going to say?"

He smiled. "There's this photographer passing through town, Campbell is his name, and he's set up a little temporary studio in Loren's store. They're old friends I guess. Anyway, I got to thinking we don't have a family portrait of us. Would you like that, Mike? If ya want, he told us all to come at four o'clock tomorrow."

"Cal, this &is& a surprise," Michaela said excitedly. "I would love that. It's been so long since I've had the children photographed. And you and I...we've never been photographed together."

He smiled. "That's right, and it's about time we had that done."

She picked up the roast pan with two potholders and placed it on the table. "Indeed," she replied with a grin.

& & &

"Hold it...hold it..." directed the lanky photographer.

Byron wiggled his nose impatiently. He had never wanted to itch it more in his entire life.

"Hold it...there!"

With a poof of smoke the photograph was taken.

"Beautiful! Beautiful!" the photographer exclaimed.

Byron scratched his nose vigorously and Katie sneezed, the smoke overwhelming. Cal pulled on his tie, struggling to breathe. It was terribly uncomfortable, not to mention the long sleeved, heavy wool gray suit. He couldn't wait to get back home and change. He was beginning to regret suggesting to Michaela they have a family portrait taken. He had forgotten how women could be when it came to things like photographs, insisting everyone dress in their finest, most uncomfortable clothes, comb their hair till there was nothing left, and scrub their faces red. Michaela was no exception.

"It's over now?" Byron asked, pulling on his mother's fancy blue silk skirt.

Michaela smiled. "It's over." She bent down and scooped him up, planting a kiss on his nose. "You were a good boy to stay still. Now the photograph won't be blurry, and you'll see yourself."

"I'll see you, too, Mama?" Katie inquired.

"Hm-mm. Everyone. Did you smile? We want to see that missing tooth."

Katie put one finger in her mouth, feeling for the space at the front. "Think so..." She tested her other front tooth, and thought it was a little wobbly.

Cal fished in his breast pocket for his wallet. He handed the photographer a few bills. "This cover it?"

"That's it, sir," the photographer replied, pocketing the cash. "You can pick her up tomorrow. Frame included, no charge."

"I appreciate that," Cal said, reaching for his neck again to pull off his bothersome tie. Michaela grabbed his hand. "Set a good example for Byron," she directed under her breath. Sighing, Cal reached for the happy four-year-old. He too was attempting to loosen his uncomfortable black bow, but to no avail.

"Not till we get home, son," he said, pulling Byron's hand from the little tie. "Can't go through town with our shirts all untucked and our ties hanging."

Byron scowled. "How come not, Cal?"

"'Cause we gotta look handsome," he answered with a smile.

"I don't wanna look handsome!" he announced defiantly.

"Well, your ma wants us to, so we gotta do what she says," he replied, kissing his head

"Can we see the photograph, Cal?" Katie implored, pulling on his hand, eyes dancing with excitement. "I wanna see it!" She put one hand on her hat to steady it, and finally gave up and let it fall lop-sided.

"We'll see it tomorrow, Kate," Brian said, patting her back.

Michaela took Katie's gloved hand. "Ready to go?"

"Yep. What're we gonna do when we git home?" she inquired.

Michaela thought. "Well..." Katie and Byron were always one step ahead of her. "You can help me with supper..."

"Me, too!" Byron piped up, never one to be left out of anything.

"Then what?" persisted Katie.

"Then you can help us eat supper!" Cal spoke up.

"I'll help!" Byron squealed.

"Me, too," Brian laughed.

Cal boosted Michaela onto the wagon seat as Brian helped Katie and Byron into the back and climbed in after them. This is what he had always dreamed of, Cal thought: a beautiful wife he adored with all his heart, bright, happy children at their feet, a tight knit, loving family. Life seemed carefree and incredibly satisfying. Cal supposed not every man could claim to be as happy as he had been since he had met the woman he loved. Michaela grasped his arm with her hands as he took up the reins. He felt truly fortunate.

& & &

"This isn't just a little ride," Michaela called as she squeezed Flash's belly with her thighs, pressing her to catch up to Cal's horse. Cal had woken her before the sun that morning, a picnic basket in hand, urging her to follow him and assuring her that Matthew was coming over to look after the children.

Mischievously, Cal turned his head back, holding his reins with one hand. "Ain't much farther. Ya having trouble keeping up?"

"No, of course not," Michaela retorted.

"Of course not," he chuckled, returning his focus to the narrow, muddy road at hand.

Obstinately, Michaela clicked her tongue, urging Flash on.

Suddenly, Cal brought his horse to a stop, gazing with a pleased grin into the woods. He dismounted, turning his eyes to Michaela. "Ya recognize it?"

Michaela's expression softened as she got down from Flash and took hold of her bridle. "I do," she murmured. "Cal...why did you bring us out here?"

He untied the picnic basket from his horse and then took her hand. "Wanted to take ya back to our place."

She smiled as they began walking toward the small trapper's cabin, relatively unchanged since they had taken shelter there four years ago. "Our place," she experimented.

He leaned against the rotting door and pushed it open. "It's probably real dirty and dusty inside," he remarked, "and full of cobwebs. Not very romantic."

"...It's romantic to me," Michaela replied shyly. Cal motioned her to enter, and she obliged. "I can't believe it's been four years," she said. Whoever had lived in the cabin had probably abandoned it some time ago, never to return. Things remained unmoved since the night of Byron's birth. Michaela grinned at the sight of the kitchen table, lined with six or seven candles Cal had found for additional light, as well as a small pile of blankets and towels they hadn't ended up needing, and finally a basin that seemed so small now, but had been plenty large enough for Michaela to give Byron his first bath in.

"Looks just the same," Cal observed, removing a red-checkered table cloth from the picnic basket and laying it in front of the fireplace as Michaela strolled around the room, taking it all in.

"I can't believe you brought us back here," she said, joining him on the blanket upon his beckon.

"This place is special," he replied. Tenderly, he cupped her neck with his hand. "This is where I first fell in love with ya."

Tears came to her eyes. "Really? Here?"

"Right here," he affirmed, "the moment I gave ya Byron to hold. Ya got me with your smile."

She leaned forward and kissed his lips. "I love you," she told him.

He brushed back her hair. "When?"

"When what?" she chuckled.

"When did you first love me?" he asked, tapping her nose.

She pressed her forehead to his. "Hmm...You probably won't remember this. It was when I saw those silly invitations you made inviting my friends to the homestead for a sewing circle meeting." She chuckled. "For cookies and lemonade! And no one suspected they weren't from me."

"'Course I remember that," he laughed. "I can't believe &you& do. Ya have to admit I'm pretty clever."

"Exceptionally clever." She kissed the tip of his nose and wrapped her arms around his back. "Do you realize if my train hadn't been delayed, and then if there hadn't been the stagecoach accident...I would have never met you?"

"Outta something bad came something good," he replied.

"Something wonderful," she amended, linking her fingers with his. Her face sombered. "I don't know what might have happened to me..."

"Shh," he whispered. "I'm glad you're happy now, Michaela. That's all I ever wanted, but now to hear that you love me, and I love you...it's..."

"...Beautiful," Michaela supplied, softly kissing his lips as her fingers worked at unfastening his shirt buttons.

& & &

Cal traced his fingers lightly across his wife's shoulder, down her arm, and finally along the base of her ribcage, leaving his hand to rest on her belly. He pressed his lips to her cheek, weakly giving it a kiss. "We should come here more often," he remarked breathlessly.

She smiled wryly, turning her head to face him and resting her hands over his. "I wouldn't mind."

"We should take Byron here sometime, too," he added. "Show him the place where he first started giving us grief."

"Cal, don't tease him like that. He was always an agreeable baby. And we can't bring him here &now&," she protested, embarrassed.

"Why not?" he questioned.

"Well, because," she replied quickly.

"'Cause we made love on the floor?" he chuckled. "I can just see ya trying to explain that one to him."

She pinched his arm. "You aren't funny."

"Yes I am," he rejoined. "...Mike? Are you mad?"

She smiled. "No."

"Mike?" He kissed her cheek. "You still want us to have a baby?"

She couldn't help but chuckle. Cal had certainly never been good with timing. "No," she said.

He raised his eyebrows, perplexed.

"No, I don't want us to have just any baby, but &your& baby would be nice," Michaela whispered, stroking a damp tendril of hair from his brow.

"...But do &you& want it, darlin'?" he pressed softly.

She hesitated, recalling her conversation with Cloud Dancing and the advice he had given her. "...If it makes you happy, then it makes me happy," she told him. "Very happy."

"...Oh, Michaela. You're so beautiful." He smiled and kissed her. "Wouldn't it be fitting, if it happened here?"

"Very," she agreed, squeezing his hands. "Cal, we never had our picnic," she remarked, nodding at the unopened basket.

"Well, that depends on how you look at it," he responded, claiming Michaela's lips once more.

& & &

Michaela dismounted Flash and took hold of her bridle. She'd spent the morning gathering herbs deep in the woods, and her satchel was brimming with various roots, leaves, and buds. It had certainly been a productive day so far, and being alone in the calm, quiet woods was just what she needed. Not that she didn't enjoy being in the company of those she loved, but she had come to realize that a few hours alone every so often served to relax and refresh her like nothing else could.

Michaela clicked her tongue. "Come on, Flash," she bid. "The creek's just ahead. Let's have a drink, hm?"

Flash let out an agreeable whinny, as if in reply. Michaela smiled and led her onto a path off the road. She walked a few hundred yards through the cool woods until she reached the creek, the water high from a recent rainfall. She allowed Flash to drink her fill while she removed her gloves and washed her face with the chilly water.

Flash suddenly started and ceased drinking, her ears shooting straight up.

Michaela rose to her feet. "What is it, Flash?" She held her breath, listening to the sounds around her, listening for danger, as Sully had taught her. A twig snapped, and Michaela shook. Hurriedly, she circled around the horse, preparing to mount her and ride off.

Michaela felt her heartbeat quicken, and without intending to, she turned around. There he stood, on the opposite side of the creek, staring at her just as incredulously with his piercing blue eyes, exactly like her son's. "Sully," she murmured, almost involuntarily. She shook her head, backing up against the horse. She was seeing things. Yes, seeing things. Slowly, she mounted Flash.

"Michaela," he said. "No, don't leave."

The man wore a moth-eaten, off-white shirt and soiled brown trousers, the knees poorly patched. His hair was tangled and dirty and longer than Sully had usually worn it, and he was very tan. "I'm just going to ride away," Michaela said, voice shaking. "I'm just going to go away, and you're going to go away, too. Please."

"Michaela!" he called.

"Go away, please!" she demanded, her brow narrowed. Distraught, Michaela gave Flash a firm squeeze with her thighs, and disappeared down the path. She was terribly angry with herself. Now she was &seeing& him, too. She put her hand to her chest as she urged Flash on. Her heart was beating hard and fast. She's never had such a vivid image of Sully appear before her, not even in her dreams. It was frightening, bewildering, and...too much like reality, too much like the real Sully. She was beyond frightened. She was terrified.

to be continued...


	37. Chapter 50

Chapter Fifty

Byron tenderly stroked his mother's cheek, frowning. "You are sick," he determined. Mama had come into town around noon and picked him up from Miss Dorothy's, taking him straight home. She had hastily put together a ham sandwich for his lunch and left him alone in the kitchen to eat while she went upstairs. Well, he hadn't exactly been alone. Wolf had sat in the chair next to the child and Byron fed the little dog scraps of meat now and again, keeping her happy.

While Byron was eating, Michaela had opened the trunk at the foot of the bed. She kneeled on the floor and flipped slowly though a handful of photographs: herself when she was about Byron's age, poised on her father's knee, Sully and Abigail on their wedding day, the family portrait her first year in Colorado--the one Sully had refused to stand in, and photographs from her wedding day: she and Sully, one of just herself, and a few of the entire wedding party. Next, she came to photos of Katie, and couldn't help but let out a sigh. She had been such a darling baby. Michaela regretted not having any photos of Byron as an infant. She'd been miserable and broken-hearted, and having her baby son's image preserved for the future had been the last thing on her mind. At the time, she could barely think more than a day in advance. Well, she would always have the memory. Finally, Michaela studied the photograph taken at Katie's Christening. It was the last photograph she had of Sully. For fear of hurting Cal, she'd tucked it deep in the trunk, along with all other tangible memories of her first husband: the veil from her wedding day, a love letter he had sent her while on a survey, old maternity dresses, a wanted poster of Sully the army had printed, and finally black mourning garb. Michaela thought back to earlier that day. Four years later, and her imagination could still conjure up perfect images of Sully, placing them in her dreams and now even while she was awake. She wanted to tell Cal about what happened, about hearing Sully coming, hearing his deep voice calling her name, seeing him so vividly before her, even smelling the unique though pleasant scent of him. She couldn't tell Cal though. He would only be frustrated with her, angry even, and definitely hurt.

Then an idea had suddenly struck Michaela. "No...that's ridiculous," she chastised herself. But what if it wasn't? What if that image hadn't been her imagination...but Sully coming back as a ghost, perhaps to tell her something? Michaela touched her finger to the photograph of Sully, feeling a chill. She had hastily put the photographs back in the trunk and slammed the lid.

She'd been laying under the covers for an hour now, in her nightgown. Byron had come up after he had finished his lunch, Wolf at his heels. He'd climbed straight up onto the bed, worried about his mother in bed in the daytime.

"You're sick, Mama," Byron insisted once more.

"No, I'm not sick," Michaela reassured him softly, patting his hand.

Byron was like his father, and like Cal, too. He looked into her eyes, knowing they would not lie. "You are sick," he persisted. "I'll go get your black bag." He started to climb down.

"No, Mommy's fine. I'm just tired." Michaela pulled him to her and laid him down, cuddling him against her. He looked just like Sully with his wide, inquiring blue eyes, just like the man that had appeared at the creek that morning. She was afraid to look at her son. "Byron, sometimes people just want to be alone with our thoughts, to think about things that might be troubling us..."

Byron thought a moment. "How come?" he asked.

Michaela chuckled, kissing his head. "Never mind. Close your eyes, sweetheart. Take a nap with Mama."

"No nap. Tell me a story," he whispered. "I know, tell me my story. That's the one where's I got born."

Michaela sombered. "No, not today."

"But that is the bestest story," he contended.

"I know, but I'm tired, darling," Michaela told him.

"All wight, then I will tell it," he announced. He tucked his head against her shoulder and took hold of her hand. "Once 'pon a time there was me in Mama's tummy. And then there was Cal and he helped get me born. And there was rain, too. Papa's in heaven but he looks just like me 'cept I am littler, and he is named after me an' named Bywon. I was the bestest baby ever and Mama was extra happy 'cause she is my mama and she counted my toes. The End--Oh, and there was ten toes and I had lots of hair. But Katie didn't have none 'cause Mama told me so, but now she has some. The End." Byron looked up at his mother, anticipating her reaction. He was disappointed to see her head turned away from him and her eyes unfocused. "That's the bestest story, right, Mama?" he asked softly. Had she even been listening?

"...Yes, it is," she choked. Michaela recalled the night of her child's birth vividly, as if little time had passed. She knew how wonderful it felt to have her newborn placed in her arms for the first time, but also how much the idea of a child with Cal continued to frighten her, as much as she tried to convince herself it didn't. Perplexed by her emotions, her heart heavy, she closed her eyes and once more saw Sully standing on the other side of the creek.

"Mama?" Byron persisted.

Michaela glanced down at him. "Byron...have you ever...have you ever seen things that...that aren't really there?"

He tapped his chin. "Um...nope," he said honestly. He coughed. "How come?"

"Oh, nothing. Your mommy's finally gone mad, that's all," she said dryly.

"What ya mad about?" Byron asked quickly, fearful he had done something wrong.

Michaela couldn't help but chuckle. "Nothing. Nothing, darling." She felt guilty for drawing him into her troubles. "I love you, Brynie. Close your eyes with me, please?"

"I know, you afwaid of monsters," Byron informed her perceptively. He gave her cheek a loving kiss. "That's all wight, Mama. I'll sleep with you. They won't come near." Tenderly, he took her hand in his, tucked his head beneath her chin, and closed his eyes, dozing off not a minute later.

& & &

"Doesn't it look nice, Mike?" Cal asked, placing a rough sketch of their future home in her hands.

Michaela leaned back against her pillows. "It's very beautiful," she said unemotionally. She was thrilled Cal had finally begun taking steps in order to start building their house, but couldn't find the energy to express her feelings. Her thoughts remained focused on what had occurred earlier that day, on the ghost of a figure that had approached her and called her name. He had looked just like Sully, though his dress and appearance was far more rugged and filthy than she had ever known her first husband to be. After pondering it all for hours, she still had no explanation.

"You don't like it," Cal at least murmured. "Oh, Mike. Is it too small? I wish I could add another floor but right now money-"

"Cal, it's fine," Michaela insisted. She rolled his sketch and handed it to him. "It's just I can't wait until we move."

"Yeah, me, too," Cal said. "Mike, you don't look well at all. You sure ya don't want anything to eat? I shoulda made ya eat something at supper."

She shook her head. "No, I'm fine."

"Well, lie down then," he instructed, placing his sketch on the nightstand and shifting down under the covers. "I bet all ya need is a good night's sleep. That's what my ma used to say to me when I wasn't feeling well. Most of the time she was right."

Michaela smiled faintly and obeyed, taking his hand beneath the covers. "I'm so happy you're my husband, Cal," she said suddenly, in a plaintive effort to push the past aside and focus on the present.

Surprised, Cal cleared his throat. "Me, too, Mike," he replied. He kissed her forehead. "Goodnight, darlin'."

She gazed at him for a long moment, her eyes traveling across features that had become so familiar to her. She brought her free hand to his cheek and stroked it softly, trying to ignore the worry in his eyes. She wondered if he somehow knew, somehow could read her expression and know what she had seen that day. But that was utter nonsense, and so was the idea of Sully appearing to her. She was angry with herself, frustrated she couldn't remove Sully from her every thought, and earnestly wanted to feel better.

She initiated the first kiss, pressing her lips to Cal's cheek, the tip of his nose, and finally his lips.

Powerless at her tantalizing touch, Cal ran his fingers through her hair and returned the kiss.

She nudged closer to him, almost desperately. "Hold me," she murmured. Instantly her thoughts shifted to Sully standing on the opposite side of the creek, calling her name. She shut her eyes and let out a soft sob, willing the image to go away.

"Oh," Cal murmured. "Don't cry, Michaela." He wrapped his arms around her tightly. "What is it? I got ya. I won't let ya go."

She drew in her breath shakily. "Touch me, Cal," she pleaded softly against his ear. "Touch me. Love me, please."

He held her to him securely, perplexed by her behavior. He knew something was upsetting her, upsetting her deeply, and she was keeping it to herself. His fingers made their way to her nightgown, unbuttoning it swiftly. "I'm here. I love you," he told her, caressing her waist as he positioned himself over her.

"You're here," Michaela echoed, as if reassuring herself. She slipped his nightshirt over his head and kissed his warm, strong chest. "You're here." She closed her eyes, gave a quiet sigh of pleasure, and allowed his passionate caresses to carry her away from her confusion and distress. At least for a little while she could forget everything and be Michaela...Cal's wife.

& & &

"Mike?" Cal planted a loving kiss to her cheek. "Darlin', ya gonna get up? We're gonna be late for work."

Groaning, Michaela slowly opened her eyes and stretched her arms in front of her. Cal was already dressed and standing beside her, one hand caressing her hair. "Mmm, what time is it?"

"Eight o'clock. Are ya still feeling poorly?" he asked, hazel eyes filled with concern.

"Hm? Oh...a little." Michaela had laid awake half the night, after Cal had fallen asleep in her arms, replaying what had happened at the creek in her mind. She finally decided she should go to the creek again, just to make peace with it, just to assure herself it had all been her imagination. And if it had not been her imagination, but a ghost, she had to confront it. She had to find out what Sully wanted of her. Now she was bent on going, and she couldn't fathom a way to tell Cal her plans without upsetting him. "But perhaps I should stay home today, just to be sure," she stammered.

He felt her forehead. "You're still a little warm, and you're awful pale. Yeah, you best stay home. I'll stay with ya."

"No," she said, too quickly. She softened her tone. "I don't want you taking a day off. Perhaps you could help me best by dropping the children off at school and then bringing Byron over to Grace's. I'll be fine. I just need to rest."

"If that's what you want I will," he reluctantly agreed. He eyed her skeptically. "You sure you're all right, Mike?"

"I'm sure," Michaela said quickly. She hated lying. She was horrible at it, too. "It's just a little catarrh."

"Throat hurt?" he asked, bending to his knees and wrapping one arm around her back.

"No," she replied.

"Headache?"

"No."

"Tummy ache?"

She sighed. "Cal, no."

"Good, then I'll make ya breakfast," he said with a smile.

"I'm not hungry-" Michaela began.

He quieted her with a kiss. "I'll make ya breakfast, make sure you're all nice and warm under the covers, then I'll head off with the kids. How's that sound?"

She couldn't help but smile, tiredly. "...All right. Could you send the children in first? I want to kiss them good morning."

He tapped her nose with his finger. "Sure, but ya best put something on first."

Suddenly realizing her nightgown remained hastily strewn across the end of the bed, Michaela reddened. "Oh," she murmured.

Cal chuckled. "On second thought, I think you're a lot more beautiful without that nightgown. I know first hand." He picked it up, pretending to walk away with it.

"Cal, stop it," she chastised. "Come back with that!"

He laughed and returned to the bed, placing the gown over her head as she put her arms through the sleeves.

"You were about to make me chase you. I don't think you're funny in the least, Calvin Brooks," she went on, barely able to keep back a smile.

"Oh, sure I am," Cal retorted, helping her button the gown. He grew serious. "I'll go get the kids. You stay in bed today, all right? See you before supper?" he whispered tenderly, nuzzling against her cheek and then giving it a kiss.

Michaela closed her eyes, feeling worse. He had no idea. He really didn't. "See you then," she replied hoarsely.

& & &

Michaela slowly dismounted Flash, her heart pounding. She took a deep breath and walked toward the edge of the creek, looking up and down it. "Sully?" she called tentatively. She waited a moment, then began walking a few paces down the bank. She was beginning to become increasingly convinced what she had seen the day before was indeed a ghost, if only one she had conceived in her mind. Perhaps he had a message for her, was back to tell her something, and that was what her dreams about him had been leading up to. What he had to say, she wasn't sure.

"Sully?" she called again, very softly. "What do you want? Why have you come?" Just like the day before, a twig snapped. She turned swiftly around, and there he was, the image of Sully, standing no more than half a dozen yards from her, this time on the same side of the creek she was. "Why have you come?" she demanded shakily.

Sully's face brightened and he let out a deep sigh. "Michaela, it's all right. It's me. I was hopin' ya'd come back here. Oh, Michaela." He walked toward her swiftly, a smile at his lips.

Michaela felt frozen. She wanted to run, but couldn't. Tears welled in her eyes. "Please, Sully, what do you want from me? Have you come to tell me it's all right to move on? Why now?"

Sully gazed at her, confused. "I'm here. It's me." She took a panicky step back. "No, don't leave," he called. "Don't be scared, Michaela. It's all right. Please, I've waited so long..." He reached her side in moments and wrapped his arm around her waist, stroking her cheek with his free hand. "It's all right. It's me. I'm home. I'm home," he soothed reassuringly. "You're so beautiful. Michaela." It felt wonderful to say her name. "Michaela," he repeated, tears in his eyes.

She gazed at him, her throat dry, unable to move. "Sully...no, it's impossible. It can't be," she whispered. "You're a ghost. You're a ghost." But it was too real. She could feel the warmth of his arms, the smoothness of his hand against her cheek, the feel of his breath against her skin. No.

He smiled, stroking her hair. "I ain't a ghost." He eyed her worriedly. "It's all right, I'll explain later. All that matters is we're together. Touch me. Touch me, Michaela. We're here."

Stunned, Michaela reached her hand up and pressed her fingers to his cheek. His beard was thick and unkempt. She grazed her fingertips across his brow, down the bridge of his nose, and across his lips. He reached up and grasped her hand, holding it tight against his cheek as a tear slipped down it. "It's me," he murmured.

And it was. Michaela let out a quiet moan as she felt her feet give way. Sully's strong, broad arms were under hers in an instant, keeping her upright.

"Michaela? Michaela, here. Here, sit down," Sully urged, helping her to a nearby fallen log. "Sit down. You'll be all right." He patted her cheek. "Stay with me, Michaela. It's me. It's Sully. Yeah."

"Sully," she choked, tears suddenly flowing. "I don't understand. How did you...? Y-you're..."

He squeezed her hand. "Oh, Michaela. I'm here." He kissed her brow. "I been in prison, in the New Mexico Territory."

"Prison? New Mexico?" Michaela uttered, shaking her head in disbelief.

"It was all a big misunderstandin', but that don't matter. I escaped, and I'm home. We can talk about everythin' else later." He cupped her cheeks in his hands. "I just wanna hold ya." He pressed her against him and wrapped his arms warmly around her back, hugging her tight. "I love you," he whispered, rocking her slowly as the tears came. "I'm so glad we're finally together. I love ya so much. I thought of ya all the time. You an' Katie and the kids. Oh, I love you." He rubbed her back and stroked her hair, continuing to rock her tenderly.

Michaela held on, her entire body weakening as emotions took over and she burst into quiet sobs. "Oh, Sully, you're here," she murmured again and again. "You're alive. Oh, you're here."

Sully held her close and let their tears flow for some time. At last he slowly pulled back, cupping her cheeks in his hands. Lovingly he brought his lips to hers, kissing her with all the passion he could muster. He thought he wanted to kiss her forever, to make up for four years of agonizing separation. He stroked her neck and began unbuttoning her blouse. Suddenly he felt Michaela's cool, trembling hands clasp his wrists.

"Sully..." she murmured, her tears unabated. His kiss had slapped her hard with reality. It was as if she were in the midst of a horrifying nightmare. "Oh, God."

"It's all right, Michaela," he reassured her softly. "I know. We'll take it real easy. I love ya."

She remained unable to control her sobs. "Sully."

"What?" he murmured, concerned. "Oh, Michaela. I'm here now. It's all over."

She shook her head, her breath coming quick. "Sully, I thought--we thought y-you were dead," she began incoherently, having no idea how she was ever going to explain. "I wouldn't believe it for the longest time, truthfully, but everyone kept p-pushing me to accept it, but I couldn't, and then I was at a medical conference and then the s-stagecoach..." She dabbed at her nose with the back of her hand, unable to look at him. "And the driver, Cal, we got to know each other and he h-helped me c-cope and...and I never intended anything of the sort but he was so good to all of us and so caring and unselfish...I always told myself you'd like him. And he would like you. I was grieving. Cal helped me. We developed a friendship-"

Sully rubbed her back. "Shh, it's all right," he told her sympathetically. "I tried sendin' word. I tried so hard but they wouldn't let me. I'm so sorry. Everything's in the past now. Just try an' forget. We can pick up where we left off."

She drew in her breath unsteadily. "You don't understand."

"Shh," he soothed, kissing her cheek. "Take some deep breaths. I'm sorry it's gotta be such a shock." He took her hand and brought it to his lips, smiling at the sight of her wedding and engagement rings. All this time and she had never taken them off. He started as he looked closer. Her engagement ring...it was different. It was smaller, simpler, and different. "Michaela..." he began hesitantly.

"Sully, Cal and I became more than friends," she murmured.

He withdrew his hand from hers, his throat suddenly dry. "What do ya mean?" he asked slowly.

She couldn't stomach looking him in the eyes. It was unbearable to have to say this to him, but he needed to know, there was no debate about that. "We...," she paused and took a breath, fighting hard to overcome the lump in her throat. "We were married last July," she finished in a whisper.

Sully felt as if he were choking. "Married?" he echoed hoarsely. "How...who...Michaela!" He stood up abruptly.

"I'm sorry," she began as tears resumed. "I'm so sorry. Sully, we thought y-you were dead. We searched for months and months but never found a thing. Cal was the only person who understood me. He was one of the only people I felt safe with, I could trust. Sully, we never intended for it to be anything more but over time...we realized after a long friendship...w-we began to court and-and decided to marry."

Sully paced back and forth, a vein in his neck throbbing. "I don't understand, Michaela. Ya never found anythin'! Didn't that tell ya somethin'?!"

"It told me I had failed at finding my husband's resting place!" she cried. "It told me I'd never get a chance to say goodbye, that I'd never know what had really happened!"

"How could ya do this t' us?" he demanded. "Married...I thought of ya every day! Every day, Michaela! Michaela, I made it. I survived that fall." He pressed his fist to his heart passionately. "Didn't ya feel that? Didn't ya know?"

"Sully!" she pleaded. "Sully, don't you see? I thought you were on the b-bottom of the creek, or washed up along shore somewhere. There was absolutely no reason to imagine anything different. Not a trace!" She grew quieter. "I had nightmares of finding your body. I'd picture remains and be dreadfully sick. It was horrible...I thought of you, too, every day. Cal understood that. He understood what I was going through when no one else-"

"I heard enough," Sully cut in, eyes narrowed. He pursed his lips, willing her words not to affect him. He was angry, enraged, but at whom? At Michaela, he told himself. Fighting hard not to let her see the pain across his features, he changed the subject to something easier to speak of. "The kids...are they all right?" he asked. "Katie an' Brian?"

"They're fine," she told him. "They're beautiful." She paused, glancing up at the sun. She would have to be getting back. Cal would be picking up Byron and coming home for dinner in a few hours, and they'd wonder where she was. She paused, her breath held. Gazing into his blue eyes, she slowly let out her breath. "Oh..." she murmured.

Sully paused. "...What?" he said quietly, pretending to be as aloof as possible.

She dabbed tears from her eyes. "Sully...I want you to meet someone."

He looked away, crossing his arms. "Who, your husband?" he retorted. "I ain't interested."

Hurt, Michaela stood up. "Please? Could you meet me here tomorrow morning at nine o'clock?

He crossed his arms, remaining cool. "Don't see the point. Go home to...to Cal."

She swallowed hard. "Please, Sully? For me?"

He paused for a long moment. At last, he gave a deep sigh. "Tomorrow at nine. You ain't here I won't wait."

She nodded tearfully. "Thank you."

Without saying goodbye, Sully stormed off, disappearing into the trees. Michaela was right. She had been given absolutely no reason to think he was alive and every reason to believe he hadn't survived. If only he had tried harder to send word! Communication to the outside was forbidden but he could have tried harder and gotten word, somehow! He rubbed his eyes of tears of shock, betrayal, and incredible hurt. Just like he once had, Michaela had been able to find love again after tragic loss, but that didn't make him feel any better. He focused his mind on the children. He ached to see them and regretted not asking Michaela to bring them to him. He wanted to go to them himself but he feared being seen by townsfolk. Everyone thought he was dead. They would have to be gradually warmed to the idea of him being alive and well before he began walking around town as if nothing had happened. He decided he would try to focus completely on the children and their happiness for now, for fear anger would take over and he would do something he regretted.

& & &

Michaela barely registered that the wagon was in the yard as she dismounted Flash and led her into the stall. Slowly she began unhitching the saddle, not certain she had the strength to do so. She continued to replay the events of the past few hours in her mind. It was as if somehow it couldn't be possibly true, or was happening to someone else and she was sitting back watching. But it was happening to her, and to Sully...and to Cal. She drew in her breath. Sully was alive. How many times had she prayed and wished for this with all her heart? But then she had slowly fallen in love with Cal, had stop praying and wishing and had begun the long process of putting Sully to rest.

Her hands shook uncontrollably as she tried to unbuckle the saddle. As much as it was a miracle Sully was alive, the unforgiving truth was that she was married to two men. The harsher truth was that she could not say she didn't love one or the other. She loved them both, deeply. It was indeed a cold, cruel nightmare.

The barn door creaked open and she nearly let out a scream.

"Mike, where ya been?" Cal asked, coming to her side.

Startled, Michaela slowly turned around. She felt stiff, cold, and panicky. "Cal...what are you doing here?"

He cleared his throat. "Well, I...I was worried about ya home sick. I decided to take the afternoon off and stay with ya, and when I got back here, oh, around one o'clock or a little after, the house was empty. Are you feeling better? Did ya go to town or..."

Michaela turned back to Flash, lowering her eyes. "Yes, I um...I was at the clinic." She waited for a response from Cal, and receiving none, turned back to face him. His arms were crossed and there was confusion in his eyes.

"You were at the clinic?" he questioned slowly.

"Yes," she said quickly.

"All afternoon?" he went on.

"Yes," she murmured.

He took a deep breath. "Michaela..."

Startled by Cal's use of her full name, something he rarely spoke, Michaela took a step back. She picked up Flash's bucket of water to change it.

"Michaela, where ya been?" he asked again. "I stopped by the clinic before I left town to bring ya home some medical books--thought maybe you might want them, being lonesome in bed all day. You weren't at the clinic, Mike. It was locked up and empty." He stepped closer, taking the bucket. "Here, I got it."

"That is, I was at the clinic only in the morning," Michaela stammered, on the verge of tears. "I left well before noon. Then I-I went for a walk." She was tired of being deceitful, but couldn't find the words to tell Cal what had really occurred that afternoon. "I mean a ride, with Flash."

"Oh, yeah? You feeling better then?" he asked, walking toward the outdoor pump with the bucket.

Michaela followed him, her breath shaky. "Well, I..."

He paused in his steps, feeling her brow. "Mike, you really ought to be in bed. Don't know what the heck you were thinking gallivanting all over the place today. Gosh, you're burning up."

"I'm freezing," she told him quietly, hugging her arms.

"We'll go inside and get ya in bed right now," he told her worriedly, placing the bucket at his feet. "I'll make ya some hot soup, hm? Then I'm fetching Dr. Cook. This has gone on too long for my liking."

She shook her head. "Please don't bring Andrew here, Cal. I'm just not very hungry, that's all."

He took her hand, leading her toward the front porch. "Darlin', you're being foolish. No wonder you're sick. Ya haven't eaten a thing in two days. You keep up with this, Mike, and I'll have to &make& ya eat, and that won't be fun, I promise you."

"Cal," she murmured plaintively.

"I know, you're fed up with me. Well, it's like we were saying the other day: ya married me," he teased. "Now you're stuck with me."

She stared at him for a moment, and then her knees buckled and her world went black.

to be continued...


	38. Chapter 51

Chapter Fifty-one

Frantically, Cal removed his button-down shirt, rolled it up and placed it beneath Michaela's neck. "Mike?" he called anxiously, gently patting her cheek. "Wake up, darlin'. Come on." Her skin was feverishly warm to the touch, though she had complained of being cold. "Michaela," he pressed. "Now enough's enough. Stop this. You gotta wake up now. Wake up, Michaela."

Her eyelids fluttered and she gave a soft moan.

Cal let out a relieved sigh. "That's it, Mike. Wake up."

"Cal," she muttered, slowly blinking.

"That's it, darlin'. Yeah, it's Cal. It's Cal." He stroked back her hair tenderly. "What do ya think you're doing, hm?" he questioned.

"What happened?" she murmured, struggling to focus on his face.

"What happened?" he chuckled. "Ya went and fainted on me, that's what happened. That wasn't very nice of ya."

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice shaking.

"Oh, shh, that's all right," he whispered. "That's all right." He carefully wrapped his arms beneath her back. "Can you sit up? We gotta get ya inside and in bed."

"I'm fine," she protested, reluctantly allowing him to help her into a sitting position.

"No, you ain't," he said firmly. "We're getting you in bed right this second and then I'm fetching Andrew. Here, try standing up. Real slow now," he instructed.

"Andrew? No," she told him. "I'm all right, truly."

He helped her rise to her feet, keeping one arm securely around her waist as they began walking toward the house. "Michaela, ya've been acting funny all week," he retorted. "Now you've got a fever and are passing out and on top of it all trying to tell me everything's fine. Everything is not fine, and we're gonna have Andrew tell us what's going on. You gotta start taking care of yourself. Especially now-"

She sighed as they ascended the stairs. "It's not what you think, Cal."

"…Whatever it may be I want you better. Ya scared me there, Mike," he admitted quietly.

Once inside, Cal helped Michaela upstairs and into a nightgown, all the while keeping his eyes on her protectively.

"How do you feel now?" he questioned once she was snug under the covers. He wrung a cloth out over the basin and pressed it to her forehead.

"Fine," Michaela insisted, irritated by his fussing.

"Ya'll be all right here while I get Dr. Cook?" he asked.

"Please, Cal," she begged, "don't go. It's just because I haven't been eating. I just haven't had an appetite. It's only a catarrh." Michaela knew she wasn't in the mood to deal with a doctor and the numberless questions he was sure to ask. Appeasing Cal was trying enough. "Don't fetch Andrew. I'll eat. I promise. I'll be much better if I just have something to eat."

He took her hand in his. "You promise you'll eat?"

She nodded. "I will. I'm sure I'll feel nearly as good as new presently."

"…All right, but if you don't get better right away I'm getting him. No buts." He gently stroked back her hair, taking a deep breath. "Are ya pregnant maybe, Mike?" he asked softly, his voice filled with hope.

Michaela felt her throat tighten. If only it were that simple. "…No," she choked. "At least, I don't think so," she added.

Cal squeezed her hand. "Well, that's all right. That's all right." He tenderly kissed her cheek. "It'll happen soon, don't worry. Let's get you well first."

Michaela wanted to tell him about Sully, about everything that had happened that day, but couldn't. She had absolutely no idea where to begin and truthfully wasn't sure if her present condition could withstand delivering such an explanation. She knew she would have to tell Cal as soon as possible, but couldn't do it now. She just couldn't do it now.

"Don't be upset about it, darlin'," Cal soothed. "Don't worry about it. Just think about getting strong again. What do you want me to cook ya? Anything you want."

Michaela had to admit despite everything putting something in her belly sounded tempting, especially after being unable to stomach a thing for almost two days, ever since she had first seen Sully at the creek. "A little soup?" she murmured.

"A little soup it is," Cal replied, kissing her softly.

& & &

"You're sure you'll be all right?" Cal asked once more, taking Michaela's hand before he descended the porch steps for the wagon.

"I'm positive," Michaela told him shakily, Byron in her arms.

"Mama feel betta' now," the little boy put in, hugging his mother's neck lovingly.

"Well, you make sure you look after your mama this morning, all right, Squirt?" Cal instructed. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

Michaela nodded stiffly. "We'll be just fine. Go on to work, Cal. I'll not have you taking a day off from work when I feel fine."

"All right, if you're sure," Cal sighed. He kissed her hand. "Take it easy today. No going to the clinic or for walks or anything foolish like that. Stay in and rest for a change."

"I will," she said quickly.

"Do you think you could get me some more marbles, Cal?" Byron spoke up suddenly.

Cal chuckled, caressing his head. "More marbles? I just bought ya a whole mess of 'em, Squirt."

"It's easy. Ya just gotta give Mr. Bway pennies and ask for marbles," he instructed. "I want more please."

"Well, let me think about it," Cal told him.

"How long ya gonna think?" Byron pressed.

Cal tousled his hair. "I don't know. Give me a day at least!" He looked at Michaela wryly. "Ya sure we want another one of these little guys? They can be a lot of trouble."

Michaela kissed Byron's head and gave Cal a small, forced smile.

Cal tapped her nose. "I'll see ya at supper, darlin'."

Michaela watched him go, waving as the wagon rounded the bend. The moment he disappeared from sight she shifted Byron to her hip and walked briskly down the stairs for the barn.

"Where we going, Mama?" Byron asked curiously, playing absently with a tendril of her hair.

Michaela cleared her throat. "Byron, do you remember a few days ago, you and Cal were playing in the woods?"

The little boy thought a moment as his mother placed him on the ground just outside the barn. "…Yeah," he replied.

"Do you remember the man you met, the man who was fishing but hadn't caught anything? He had a beard and long hair?" She led Flash out of her stall.

"…Yeah," Byron replied. "How come?"

Michaela avoided his eyes as she led Flash out of the barn.. "We're going to go for a little walk in the woods and say hello to him. You see, he's…he's Mama's friend. But we must hurry as quick as we can. We're late as it is."

Byron put his hands on his hips. "Cal say no walks," he scolded. "He say stay in 'cause you got fainted an' got sick an' gotta go bed, Mama."

Michaela bent to pick him up. "It's all right. I feel better now. It'll only be a little walk, I promise."

"Maybe Cal come wid us," Byron suggested.

"No, no. This is just for Mama and Brynie." She kissed his cheek. "Can you keep it a secret, darling? Mama needs you to keep this walk a secret, just for a little while, I promise. Shh, it'll be our special secret. Just for you and me."

"Special sec-wet?" he asked slowly, warming to the idea.

"Yes," Michaela told him. "Doesn't that sound like fun? Just a little secret for awhile."

Byron considered it for a moment, and then nodded his consent. "All wight. Special sec-wet. Just me and Mama."

& & &

"Why we gotta sit here?" Byron asked once more, swinging his legs on his mother's lap. "Can we play hide 'n' seek? I'll be 'it' if you don't want to."

"Not today, Brynie," Michaela told him, worried Sully wouldn't be coming at all. "We must wait for Mama's friend."

"Why?" he questioned.

"Because." She put her finger to her lips. "Shh. You mustn't tell Cal. At least not until Mama tells him. You mustn't tell Cal, Brynie."

He gazed up at her quizzically. "How come?"

"There he is," she said nervously, standing up with Byron in her arms as Sully approached from out of the pine trees, where he had been silently watching mother and son.

"Hey!" Byron squealed. "I saw him fishin'!"

Michaela nodded. "Yes, I know. Hush, sweetheart."

"Why do I gotta hush?" he demanded.

Sully stared at the little boy, puzzled. "Michaela...the boy I saw...ya know him?"

Michaela smiled through her tears. "Yes…very well," she whispered.

"Mama, he was fishin'," Byron went on happily, "but didn't catch one fishy. Not even one, 'cause Cal says ya gotta fish in mornings, 'cause fishes are wakin' and then you can catch 'em. Right, Mama?"

Michaela tenderly kissed his head, gazing into Sully's eyes. "That's right, my baby."

"Michaela, he called ya...he called ya Mama," Sully choked.

She nodded, unable to speak.

He took a shaky breath. "Is he...is he...?" He closed his eyes, remembering his chuckle over the little boy's name when they had first met. "His name's Byron," he at last uttered.

"This is who I wanted you to meet. This is Byron. Byron—after his...after his papa," Michaela assured him softly.

Sully stood speechless, gazing at the contented little boy, unable to believe it.

"…Hold him," she whispered tenderly, taking a step closer. "Hold him."

Byron willing went into the stranger's arms.

Breathless, Sully pressed the little boy's head against his shoulder, eyes filled with tears. "Hey...hey, Byron."

"Guess what? I'm four," Byron informed him proudly.

"Four years," Sully murmured, swallowing hard to keep his emotions in check.

"Do you see his eyes?" Michaela went on, placing her hand atop Sully's. "And his chin, and his ears? His hair?"

"Mama, he sees me," Byron told her, shaking his head. Mama sure could be silly sometimes.

Sully nodded tearfully. "He's got your nose, Michaela."

She gave him a quivering smile. "He has &our& temper."

"Does he?" Sully managed to murmur.

"…He's usually very shy around strangers," Michaela added.

Sully felt his heart swell. The little boy knew who his father was, if only subconsciously.

They took a seat on the log, Sully holding his son as close as he could.

Byron began examining the tattered fabric of his father's thin cotton shirt, running his fingers over it, not paying attention to the conversation of his parents.

"He's perfect," Sully whispered, stroking Byron's hair. "He's beautiful. He's so beautiful. Look at him."

"He's &ours&," she replied in awe, so softly Byron did not hear.

"I can't believe it," Sully replied. He felt like a new father, proudly cradling his infant, his gaze alternating between the woman he adored, and the little piece of heaven in his arms, a result of that love. "Michaela, we made this," he said, in wonderment.

"Shh," she chastised quietly.

"When..." he replied. "When did we...?"

"...A few weeks before you passed awa--I mean, before you were missing," she stammered. "A few months later I realized I was carrying him. He was born that December."

"Were ya all right? Was he?" he questioned anxiously.

"We were both fine...but...Oh Sully, I wanted—needed you with me, so much. I didn't think I could do it without you. I was so frightened. But then he was finally here and I laid eyes on him and held him … he was so tiny, but so beautiful and had such a strong, healthy cry, lots of dark hair, and his eyes...He was your son. Our Byron. I hoped you wouldn't mind about his name."

He smiled. "No, it...it suits him. I like it." he whispered. His face sobered. "Michaela, you were pregnant. I left ya all alone, pregnant with him." He took her hand, pressing it to his cheek. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

She closed her eyes. "I'm not. You left behind a part of you in our child, in all of our children. They're the reason I found the will to go on when I thought you were dead, Sully."

"Sull-wee, Mama?" Byron spoke up suddenly, turning his head to look at her.

"We gotta tell him," Sully whispered to her. He caressed the boy's head. "Please, Michaela. I can't keep somethin' like this quiet. We gotta tell him."

She dabbed at her tears with the back of her hand. "Why did this happen?"

He squeezed her hand. "We'll get through it."

"Things are so different. Four years is such a long time," she pleaded.

"Lying's only gonna make it worse," he said.

She nodded. "You're right."

"Byron," Sully murmured, shifting the child in his lap to face him.

"Yeah?" the little boy said, clutching his father's arms.

Sully opened his mouth, but couldn't find the words.

Michaela caressed Sully's arm encouragingly. "Brynie, sweetheart, do you remember when we talked about your papa, Mommy's husband Sully? And Mommy told you he was in heaven?"

He nodded. "Sull-wee went t' heaven when I was in your tummy," he informed her. "We can't see him but he watches us."

"That's right...I mean..." She gathered courage. "Mama &thought& your papa died."

The little boy scratched his head, eyebrows narrowing in confusion.

"You see, he disappeared," Michaela went on. "He had an accident and was lost from us, and when people are lost for a very long time, then we're fairly certain they've gone to heaven. So Mama assumed--thought--your papa had passed away, and so did everyone else."

"Sull-wee was lost," Byron echoed slowly, trying to sort things out in his mind.

"Yes ... lost from us, but not in heaven. He was in prison far from Colorado and escaped."

"Where'd he get lost to?" the little boy asked curiously. "Where is him?"

"I'm here," Sully whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to his son's head. "I'm…I'm your papa, Byron."

Byron let out a startled gasp, eyes widening. Immediately, he scurried into his mother's lap, clutching her tightly and burying his head against her shoulder.

Sully felt a lump in his throat. "Byron, it's all right. I'm sorry..."

Michaela rubbed the child's back soothingly. "Shh, sweetheart. I know. There's nothing to be frightened of. Your papa would never hurt you. Shh."

"My papa in heaven," he insisted softly, tears flowing down his face.

She rocked him comfortingly, Sully looking on helplessly. "I know it's difficult to understand, darling. Don't be frightened. Your papa's alive. This is...this is a very happy day." She pressed her lips to his cheek, avoiding Sully's eyes. "Papa was in jail for four years, but it was for something he didn't do. It was a mistake. He couldn't make contact with us—he couldn't talk with us and let us know he was all right..."

"But I thought about ya every single day," Sully spoke, carefully placing his hand on Byron's back. "Every day I thought about Mama, and coming home to her as soon as I could."

Slowly, Byron turned his head to the side, thumb in mouth. "An' me? Comin' home to me?"

Sully smiled softly, stroking back his hair. "Yeah, you, too. I love ya, Byron. I love ya so much. You're my son. My son."

Byron smiled faintly. "I got a papa now, Mama?" he asked. "I gots &two& papas now?" he said, eyes brightening.

Not knowing how to reply, Michaela placed him on his feet. "Sweetheart, I need you to do something for me, hm? Can you look for some pretty flowers and pick them for mama? The prettiest you can find."

Byron thought about it for a moment. "All wight," he agreed.

Michaela kissed his head. "Good boy. Run along now, but don't wander too far."

"All wight," he said, skipping off a ways into the woods, though not out of sight of his protective mother and father.

Sully watched him for a moment, teary-eyed, then turned back to Michaela, gazing at her for a long moment. "We have a son," he whispered at last, still unable to believe it all.

Michaela could do nothing but nod, overwhelmed as well. It seemed all of Byron's life she had prayed father and son could somehow meet. Now that it had happened, she could barely digest it all. Clearing her throat, she handed Sully a large leather pouch. "I brought some things I thought you might want," she began nervously. "Clean clothes, a razor, scissors, soap."

Sully opened the bag, pulling out a pair of buckskins. He brought them to his nose and inhaled deeply. "Ya kept 'em all this time."

"I have all of your things tucked away," she replied softly. "I couldn't bear to part with them. They were pieces of you and I couldn't bear to lose them, too."

He bent his head, unwilling to be moved by her devotion to him, even after remarrying.

"What happened to you, Sully?" she asked. "You say you were in prison but I don't understand. How? Why?"

He let out a deep sigh, knowing this moment would come. "Last thing I remember is gettin' into a scrape with O'Connor up on a cliff."

"O'Connor was killed in the fall," Michaela told him quietly.

"I didn't know that," Sully admitted. "Thought maybe he was though. I was nearly killed myself."

"We couldn't find a trace of you aside from your medicine pouch."

Sully touched his bare neck. "I noticed that was gone. Somehow I got myself up on shore. I don't remember much. My head was scraped up pretty bad, my legs were broken. I tried to eat a little but I couldn't barely move. Next thing I know a band of bounty hunters came along, not speakin' a word of English. Dragged me off the ground and took me with 'em."

"They were from the New Mexico Territory?" Michaela asked.

He nodded. "Natives. Took me to the marshal in a small town there. I can't remember the name, but the doc there was real kind, stitched me up real good." He paused. "Weren't as good as you, though."

Michaela stroked back his hair tenderly.

"They had a wanted poster, showed me it," Sully went on. "It was for an Indian, he looked like he might have even been Cheyenne. He robbed a bank and killed a man doing it."

"They thought you were Indian, from your appearance," Michaela concluded.

He shrugged. "Don't know if they ever believed I was the right man, but I was good enough to get the bounty they wanted. They didn't seem to know a thing about who I was or about the army back in Colorado after me. New Mexico's a long way from Colorado."

"Surely you had a trial," Michaela pressed. "Surely you told them you were innocent."

"They got me straight to trial 'fore I was even recovered," he explained. "Couldn't hardly put much passion into defendin' myself. The judge weren't interested in listenin' to me as it was."

"How could he convict you with no evidence?" Michaela demanded, growing upset.

"It didn't matter to him, Michaela," Sully replied. "Later on, I heard he'd been railroading men, tryin' to advance his career. Had political aspirations. That judge put a lotta guilty men in jail, but he put a lotta men like me there, too. Threw me in the territorial prison for thirty years, no questions asked."

"Oh, Sully," she murmured. "You must have been terrified."

He sighed. "I tried not t' think about it. I just thought about you. I knew you'd be lookin' for me and I just kept hopin' ya'd hear about me somehow. I tried to escape 'bout three times, finally made it a week ago."

"You must be wanted if you escaped," she said. "They must be looking for you."

He shrugged. "I haven't thought about that much. Might be awhile 'fore they find me here, if they ever do." He looked up. "The army, they thought I was dead, too?"

She nodded. "I wrote to President Grant shortly after it happened. He gave you a full pardon. You have nothing to fear here at least."

He sighed. "Thank you, Michaela."

She lowered her eyes. "The president was more than happy to give it to you. He was incredibly kind to all of us after the accident." She paused. "Were they kind to you, Sully? In prison?"

He swallowed hard. "…One fella was, Jack. He was the librarian there, and brought me books near every week. Didn't talk to him much, weren't much interested in talkin' to anyone, but he was real good to me, even got me in on the escape…It was you that kept me going, Michaela. You an' Katie an' the kids. I'd close my eyes and see ya, every night. Sometimes I could even feel ya."

"I felt you, too," Michaela told him tearfully.

"Ya thought I was dead," Sully said quietly.

"You don't understand," she pleaded. "All the evidence pointed to a probable death. There was nothing."

"So ya up an' married," he went on.

Bitterly hurt, Michaela could not reply at first. "Sully…marrying Cal wasn't something I decided overnight," she began shakily. "You don't know how much I agonized over what I was feeling. I thought of you all the time. I prayed you could somehow come back for so long."

"Ya thought I was dead," Sully retorted. He knew he was hurting Michaela, he could see it in her eyes, but he couldn't seem to hold back. At last, he took a deep breath, determined not to carry on any longer. Focus on the children, he reminded himself. "The other kids…can I see 'em?" he asked quietly.

She let out a soft sigh. "Yes, of course. I…I want you to. I'll have to prepare them first…but of course you can see them." She glanced around them. "Where are you sleeping?"

"Got a little camp by the creek," he replied simply. "It's nothin' new to me."

"You can't stay there forever," she insisted. "We'll figure something out."

Sully glanced at Byron, happily playing with a small toad he had found. "Did…did he build ya a place to live? Where is it?"

Michaela swallowed hard. "Well, he was planning on building a house in town but…we're at our homestead right now."

His eyes narrowed. "Ya're livin' together at the homestead?"

"Sully-"

He stood up. "Have ya told him yet?" he asked sullenly.

She hesitated. "Not yet."

Sully sighed. "Ya gotta tell him, Michaela."

"I'll tell him tonight," she said quickly.

"An' then what?"

She hesitated for an even longer moment. "I don't know," she said at last.

Sully tried hard to suppress the lump in his throat. "I'll leave now, Michaela, if ya want. I'll leave now. Just say the word." He tried to appear confident, though he was tearing apart inside. "I'll leave. The kids…we can work out somethin'."

"No, Sully," she begged, unconsciously grasping his arm. "Stay. There's still so much to sort out. I don't even know whom I'm legally married to. I don't know anything. So much is going through my head I have no idea where to begin."

"Lot's goin' through my head, too, Michaela," he told her.

"I know," she replied softly. She squeezed his arm. "You could stay in town, or at the clinic-"

"I'm fine where I am," he said quickly. "Can ya bring Katie and Brian tomorrow? Same time?"

She nodded. "I will. Oh, Sully. Brian's missed you so much. And Katie…well, she doesn't quite remember, but she asks about you often and likes to hear about you and see photographs of you."

"I wanna see 'em so much," he murmured. He gazed at his son once more, instantly attached to the little boy. "Ya'll bring Byron along, too?"

She smiled softly. "Yes."

"I'll be here tomorrow then," he murmured, turning and disappearing without another word.

"I got lotsa fwowers, Mama!" Byron shouted, emerging from the trees seconds later and hurrying to his mother with an oversized bouquet of wildflowers and weeds scrunched in his fist.

"Thank you, darling," Michaela told him, suppressing tears as she lifted him into her lap. "They're beautiful." She kissed his cheek and held him to her tight.

"Ow, Mama!" Byron moaned, wiggling out of her embrace. "Ya squeeze me!"

"I'm sorry," she murmured, stroking back his hair with a small grin.

"Where'd Sull-wee go?" he asked, looking around. "He playing hide 'n' seek?"

She swallowed hard. "No, he had to leave. But we'll see him again tomorrow…"

& & &

"An' guess what else?" Byron went on, leaning forward on his knees as Katie and Brian stared at him. "He got in jail but not in heaven and not even on the bottom of the creek, an' now we gots two papas!"

"Stop it, B." Brian scolded, pushing aside the checkerboard on his bed. He and Katie had been engrossed in their game when Byron had tiptoed in after being tucked into bed.

Katie hugged one of Brian's bed pillows, eyes wide. "Two papas?"

"Shh," Byron replied, pressing his finger to his lips. "It's a sec-wet an' we can't tell Cal. An' Papa, he gots long hair and wiskas an' hugged me. An' didn't catch no fishes."

"B.!" Brian said again, pulling his brother into his lap and straightening his little nightshift. "B, don't say those things! Ya can't pretend like this! Ya wanna hurt Ma's feelin's? Ya wanna hurt Cal's? Stop it now, Byron!"

"It's not pwetend!" the little boy insisted. "I gots a papa now an' he hugged me!"

Katie began to sniffle. "Papa's in heaven," she murmured, putting her thumb in her mouth.

Brian rubbed her back. "It's all right, Kate. B.'s just bein' a little kid. It's all pretend."

"I'm not little!" Byron shouted. "I see my papa and he love me!"

Brian took his hand, softening his tone. "B., of course Pa loves ya. He loves all of us, but from up in heaven. It's all right to want him to be here, but ya can't start believin' it."

"What's going on?" Cal asked, appearing in the doorway. "Byron, what're ya doing up, little guy? I just tucked ya in."

Katie stood up on the bed, her nightgown wrinkled and bunched up and her eyes tearful. "Byron's sayin' he sees my p-papa and he's hugging him!"

"I did! I did sees him!" Byron insisted.

Brian sighed. "He thinks he saw Sully in the woods today," he explained. "He won't listen to us. He's just got a made-up friend, Cal, that's all."

"Shh, it's a sec-wet, Brian!" the little boy scolded.

Cal lifted Byron off the bed and into his arms. "Let's get ya back to bed, little guy." He glanced at the older children. "Finish your checker game. I'll take it from here."

"Thanks, Cal," Brian said gratefully.

& & &

Michaela could barely manage to look at Cal as he came into the bedroom. She placed her brush on the vanity and sat stiffly in the chair. "Are they asleep?" she asked tensely.

"Hm-mm," Cal murmured. "Mike…" He came to her side, caressing her shoulder. "We got a problem. With Byron."

"What's the matter?" she asked, distracted by his touch.

He sighed. "He's got a pretend friend I guess. Suppose that's normal for kids his age but…well, he's been saying he's seeing Sully. I'm worried about him. He's been telling lies to the older kids, upsetting 'em. He's gotta stop this, Mike. I tried, but he wouldn't listen to me. Poor little guy. Maybe it'd help if the both of us talked to him." He brushed her hair aside and kissed her cheek. "Tomorrow maybe."

She inhaled deeply, knowing she couldn't keep it from him any longer. "They aren't lies."

"I'm sure if we both talk to him…" He froze in mid sentence. "…What?" he questioned.

She turned in her chair, her face colorless. "They aren't lies, Cal. He did see Sully…this afternoon at the creek."

to be continued...


	39. Chapter 52

Chapter Fifty-two

"Prison?" Cal uttered once more, lowering himself to the bed and sitting.

Michaela nodded slowly. "He explained it all to me. Everything I'm telling you I've only just been aware of myself since this morning. I wanted to tell you sooner but I...I couldn't find the words."

"So that's where ya were this morning. Ya've been lying to me then, all this time," he said angrily. "And the other day, when ya weren't at the clinic and said ya went riding...you were with Sully then, too, weren't ya? Why didn't ya tell me, Mike?"

"I'm sorry," she breathed. "I couldn't hurt you-"

"Don't ya think all this lying's hurt me enough?" he retorted. "...So he wasn't just making it up. Byron wasn't making all that up about seeing his pa in the woods. You took him to see Sully."

"I thought he had a right to know he has a son," she murmured shakily.

"And I tried to tell the little guy it was all just pretend," he went on. "Don't I feel like a fool. Mike, ya could've told me!"

"I couldn't," she pleaded. "Cal, I'm sorry. I couldn't do it."

"Four years. In four years he couldn't find some way to let ya know where he was?" he demanded.

She stepped toward him helplessly. "Contact to the outside was forbidden. He tried..." She paused. "He wants to...wants to see Brian and Katie. I-I want to bring them to him. Cal, I know this is a shock. It is for me as well-"

"A shock?" Cal echoed. "Is that all ya can say? Ya know it's a shock?"

She bowed her head. "I'm sorry."

Cal was silent for several long moments. Michaela remained standing, unmoving, trying to read his distraught expression.

"You're sure," he said at last. "You're sure it's him. Maybe someone's playing a joke. A cruel joke, Mike-"

"It's him," Michaela said resolutely. "It's Sully."

He felt as if he were drowning. "Mike..." Suddenly he stood up. "You're leaving," he murmured.

"Cal...no, I-"

He stared at her, confused. "Ya ain't? But he's alive. Remember how much ya used to wish he'd have lived? Ya loved him so much."

She grasped his hands. "Cal, truthfully I can't begin to sort out all that I'm feeling right now...but I do know you've been a part of my life for the last four years, and I can't just forget that."

Suddenly, he broke down. It was indeed a cruel joke. He held her tight for several minutes, never more frightened in his life. Finally, he looked up, stroking back her hair. "You're right. He should see the kids. His kids."

She sighed, relieved. "Thank you."

"Do ya gotta bring 'em?" he asked softly. "Could Brian take Katie on his own?"

She averted her eyes. "I-I'd like to go. They'll need me. It'll be difficult for them too, as much as I'll try to prepare them."

He squeezed her hand tight. "...What're we gonna do, Michaela?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. Take things one day at a time, one hour at a time. We can't stay here, Cal."

He nodded. "I know."

"I've been thinking about it," she began carefully. "...And at least temporarily...we could move into one of the upstairs recovery rooms in the clinic...and I could offer Sully the homestead."

"Who's we?" he questioned softly.

"Well, you and I," she murmured. "The children, and Wolf. Byron and Katie will want to bring Wolf."

"That's what ya want?"

Timidly, she kissed his brow. "That's what I think will work for now."

He clung to her firmly. "I love you, Michaela...I can't lose ya," he choked.

She bit her lip hard, struggling to stay in control. "...I love you, too," she whispered shakily.

& & &

"No. I don't wanna," Katie murmured tearfully, hugging her mother's arm as Michaela slowed the wagon to a stop at the edge of the woods.

"Kate, it's Pa," Brian said excitedly. "It's nothin' to be cryin' about." He jumped down from the wagon and helped his younger brother to the ground.

The little girl shook her head as Michaela climbed down from the wagon and lifted her off the seat. "It'll be all right, sweetheart," she murmured, kissing her cheek. "Papa's going to be so happy to see you." She placed her on her feet, and Katie immediately took hold of her hand.

"An' me, Mama?" Byron piped up, tugging on her skirts.

Michaela caressed his head affectionately. "All three of you. He loves you all so much."

"Where is he, Ma?" Brian asked eagerly. "Where we gonna meet him?"

"Follow me," she replied softly, venturing into the woods.

As promised Sully was waiting near the fallen log, pacing impatiently. As soon as he saw the four approach he burst into a huge smile.

"Pa!" Brian shouted, running to him. He threw himself into his father's embrace, letting out a laugh. "Pa. Pa, you're here."

"Brian," Sully murmured, overwhelmed. He pulled back. "Look at ya, son. Look at ya." He glanced at Michaela, smiling softly. "I'd say you're taller than your ma."

"He is," Michaela replied softly, overjoyed simply by the idea of father and son finally back together. Just to have Sully standing in front of her, alive and healthy, remained difficult to believe. Her heart caught in her throat at the very sight of him.

Sully bent to his knees. "Byron. Hey. I'm glad ya came again." . Katie and Byron clung to their mother's legs, both gazing apprehensively at their father.

Byron pressed one finger to his mouth thoughtfully. He glanced up at his mother for approval.

"You can go to him, sweetheart," Michaela assured him. "It's Sully. It's Papa. You remember yesterday. You can hug him. It's all right."

Byron walked over to Sully and hugged him shyly. Sully held his sons as tight as he could, kissing each of their heads, eyes filled with tears.

"Catch any fishes, Sull-wee?" Byron asked softly.

Sully smiled. "Not yet."

Byron stroked his father's smooth cheeks with his fingers. "Ya got no more scratchies."

Sully chuckled. "I shaved, thanks to your ma. Brought me a razor." He gazed once more at Michaela, then at the hesitant little girl at her feet. "Katie?" he murmured tearfully, looking back at his wife questioningly. The playful, bubbly infant he had once cradled in his hands had grown into a sweet, wide-eyed five-year-old. While in prison, he had tried to picture her as she grew, but nothing could have prepared him for the emotion he felt upon seeing his daughter for the first time since he had kneeled beside her crib as she slept, saying goodbye to her for what he thought at the time would only be a few weeks.

Michaela kept her eyes on his as the child cuddled closer to her. She drew in her breath and brushing aside tears as she bent to her knees and put her arm around her daughter. "It's all right, sweetheart," she assured her. "Your papa wants to hug you. See he and Byron and Brian? It's all right. He loves each of you. Go on."

Katie eyed Sully frightfully, and then firmly shook her head.

"Hey, Katie," Sully began, voice hoarse. "It's Papa." He held out his hand, looking into his daughter's eyes, wondering if after all this time she would somehow recognize him, feel some sort of bond with him. The child remained unresponsive.

"Katie," Michaela pleaded. She gently nudged her forward.

"Kate, come on," Brian spoke up, his arm around Sully. "Look, it's our pa. Why ya actin' like this? Don't ya know it's Sully? It's your papa."

"Here, Mama will go with you," Michaela said, taking a step toward Sully. "See, it's all right. Papa loves us." She took Katie's arm, and the child instantly pulled away, eyes wide.

Sully stood up, Byron in his arms, and walked toward the little girl. "It's all right, Kates. We don't have t' hug at first. We could...we could shake hands, like we're just meetin' for the first time. How's that sound?" He reached out to stroke her hair, at last able to look at his child face to face. "Oh, Katie. You're beautiful. How'd ya get so big?"

"No!" Katie shouted suddenly, bursting into tears. "Mama!"

Sully instantly withdrew his hand as Michaela scooped the child into her arms.

"Shh," she murmured, rocking her. "Shh, sweetheart. There's nothing to be frightened of."

"Mama, I wanna go home," she sobbed, clutching her mother's neck. "I wanna go home."

"Katie, what's the matter?" Brian groaned. "Ma, make her stop."

Sully waved his hand. "It's all right, Brian..."

Michaela gazed at him helplessly, rubbing Katie's back. "I don't know what's wrong...she always asks about you, Sully...wonders about you..."

Visibly hurt, Sully avoided her eyes. "It's all right. Don't make her."

Michaela kissed Katie's head. "Shh...You don't have to just yet, darling," she murmured, walking toward the log. "You can sit with Mama over here." She took a seat and cradled a sniveling Katie in her lap.

"Don't go away, Mama," Katie told her, putting her thumb in her mouth.

"I'm right here," Michaela assured her softly, realizing it had been over a year since Katie had last resorted to suckling her thumb. "I'm here."

Awkwardly, Sully turned back to his sons, caressing each of their heads. He glanced at Michaela. "Could we take a walk ya think? We won't be too long."

"I got so much to tell ya, Pa," Brian said, happily gazing at his father.

Michaela nodded her consent. "We'll wait here."

& & &

"But why, Ma?" Brian questioned once more.

"Brian, please," Michaela pleaded. "Just take them to the wagon. I'll be along shortly."

"You do what your ma says, son," Sully put in gently.

Brian glanced at him. "...All right," he consented half-heartedly. He took Katie and Byron's hands. "Come on. We gotta wait in the wagon for Ma."

"Bye-bye, Sull-wee," Byron spoke up, waving his free hand.

Sully smiled. "Bye, Byron." He gazed longingly at his little girl, who stood cuddled against her older brother, refusing to return Sully's gaze. "Bye, Katie. See ya soon I hope."

"When are ya movin' back in, Pa?" Brian asked suddenly, eyebrows raised. "How long ya gonna stay out here-?"

"Brian," Michaela replied, cutting him off sternly.

Letting out another sigh, Brian turned toward the road. "...Come on," he muttered to the younger children, leading them away to the wagon.

Michaela waited until the three were well out of earshot, then folded her hands uncomfortably. "Sully, I...I'm so sorry about Katie," she began. "She's frightened, that's all. I had no idea she would behave this way-"

He waved his hand. "It's fine, Michaela," he said quickly.

"She'll come around I'm sure," Michaela added. She stepped forward and touched his arm gently. "It must have been painful to see her so frightened. I'm sorry it didn't turn out differently. It's just...she doesn't know you."

"I know she doesn't know me," he retorted, a bit too harshly, stepping away. He softened. "...Ya didn't tell me how beautiful she is. Like her ma."

She pursed her lips. "She's a wonderful little girl, Sully. I-I thought you'd never see the w-wonderful people they're all becoming."

He crossed his arms and shuffled his feet. Now that he was alone with Michaela, it seemed he couldn't think what to say to her.

Michaela paced a few steps away, at a loss for words as well. "Cal and I ..."

Sully snapped his head up.

She paused. "We talked about ... about ... well, I thought you might-we thought-you might want to move back into the homestead."

He stroked his chin apprehensively. "I don't know what ya mean."

"Well, we're going to move into a few recovery rooms in the clinic ... Cal says we can be packed by tomorrow. You can stay in the homestead."

He tensed at the mention of "we." Cal and herself, Michaela had meant. "That so," he finally murmured indecisively.

She nodded. "It's there for you, if you'd like. You built it with your hands. It's yours."

"I built it for my family," he said softly, blue eyes penetrating hers. "I want ya to stay there. Don't want ya movin' out."

She looked away. "We also thought we ought to tell everyone about you ... before people come across you on their own and are shaken, before you go into town. I'm going to hold a meeting tomorrow after church. I've spoken to the reverend. We both thought it would be easier to tell everyone all at once ... perhaps easier for you as well. You shouldn't feel like you have to explain yourself again and again."

"Ya shouldn't feel that way either, Michaela," he said. " ... I'm sorry about that."

"We should be getting back ... " She turned to leave.

"Michaela," Sully called.

She paused in her steps.

"What now?" he asked fearfully.

She didn't reply at first. Her breath was coming too shaky to speak. "I ... I'm married to two men."

He nodded slowly.

"It sounds more like a practical joke," she said, "rather than the truth."

"I know," Sully murmured, staring at his feet.

"I can bring the children to the homestead so you can be with them, get to know them," she said softly. "I hope you'll want to stay there instead of here. I think it'd be easier on the children, getting to know you in a more familiar setting." Unable to maintain her composure much longer, she turned swiftly. "I need to get back-"

"Michaela," Sully called once more.

She paused, breath held.

"I'll stay in the homestead if that's what ya want," he said. "...For now, at least."

& & &

"I'm not goin'," Brian told his mother firmly, collapsing onto his bed. "Ya can't make me."

"I don't have time for this, Brian," Michaela retorted, opening his bureau. "Now if you'd like I can pack for you, though I suspect you're capable of doing it yourself."

"Ma, why do we gotta leave? Why can't we stay here?" he implored.

"It isn't fair to stay here," she responded calmly. "This is Sully's homestead and it belongs to him."

"Why can't we just go back to the way things were before he went missin'? He's back now, Ma. He's back."

"Brian, I can't throw away the past four years as if they've never happened," she contended. " ... I don't think any of us can."

He stared at her, perplexed. "We ... we aren't gonna live with Pa?"

She removed several of his shirts from the bureau, not replying.

"You're stayin' with Cal?" Brian stood up, hands on his hips. "Ma, Sully's back! Ain't ya happy? Remember how hard it was, when we first thought he was gone? Ya cried all the time. I'd pretend I didn't hear ... but I did. I did." He narrowed his brow. "You're actin' like ya don't even care! You're gonna stay with Cal! Ya wish Sully hadn't ever come back! Ya wish he really had died!"

"Brian, that's not true!" Michaela responded. She grew quiet, stunned and bitterly hurt by his accusation.

Brian swallowed. "I'm sorry," he whispered guiltily. "Ma, I'm sorry. I know ya don't think that. I just ... I ..." He trailed off, returning to sit on his bed, not knowing what to say.

"Brian, I realize this is upsetting, but do you understand what it means now that Sully is here?" she asked softly, coming over to sit beside him.

He bit his lip, not certain what she was getting at.

"It means I've taken vows with two men," she began shakily. "And both of those men are alive and well. It's incredibly complicated."

"No it's not. Ya're married to Sully," Brian replied instantly.

She gently stroked his hair. "I love Sully very much. You know how much I grieved him when I thought we'd never see him again. But during that time, Cal and I met and developed something of our own. Eventually I promised myself to him through very sacred vows, vows that can't simply be brushed aside. Am I supposed to simply send Cal on his way...?"

"But Sully...Sully's my pa," Brian said tearfully.

"I know, Brian," Michaela murmured. "A very special pa. Someone I've taken equally binding, meaningful vows with."

"...But ya can't be married to both of 'em," he added.

"No," she admitted. "But I've only known about Sully having survived for a few days. We need time to think. That's why I reasoned we should move into the clinic, and let Sully stay here. We all need time to think."

Brian stared at his hands, pondering her words. "Couldn't I stay here, too, Ma? With Sully? Please, I don't wanna move to the clinic. I could stay here and help him out with the chores and things. An' keep him company."

Michaela gazed at him sympathetically, realizing there was no harm in his proposal. Of course he would want to spend time with Sully, something he had sorely missed for four years. She couldn't deny him that. "...All right, you may," she consented softly. "And I'll try to come back here daily with the children, so he can begin to get to know them."

Brian was silent for a moment longer, then suddenly gave her a tight hug. "I know I ain't the only one this is hard on, Ma," he told her. "I'm sorry this had to happen."

"I'm sorry, too, sweetheart," Michaela responded hoarsely, kissing his head and rocking him. "I'm sorry, too."

& & &

"I don't like this bed, Cal," Byron said unhappily, hugging his stuffed puppy.

"Me neither," Katie added tearfully as she clutched her brother's arm.

"I know ya don't." Cal gave a deep sigh and pulled the covers up to their chins. He glanced out the window of the small recovery room, and could hear a handful of rowdy drunkards outside Hank's saloon.

"It's noisy out there," the little girl went on. "I don't like it."

Cal stroked her head. "Sometimes we gotta do things we don't like."

"How come, Cal?" Byron asked.

"Shh," he chastised. "Close your eyes. It's late."

Katie quietly began to sniffle. "A-are you gonna go away, C-cal?" she asked timidly. "Brian says n-now that Sully is back he will be our papa."

"No, don't go away!" Byron demanded tearfully. He reached his hands up and grasped Cal's shirt, clamping down on it tight. "No, Cal!" he said.

His heart breaking, Cal got down on his knees and took their hands in his. "Ain't you kids glad your pa's back? Don't be worrying about me."

Byron hesitated. "You...you are my papa, Cal," he said softly. "Ya got whiskas, and hug us, and are nice. Mama says that's a papa. And now I got two and Sull-wee is very nice but I like you the bestest."

"Me, too," Katie spoke up.

Cal squeezed their hands. "Oh, you don't mean that, kids. I love ya, both of ya, as much as any papa could. But Sully...well, he's your real father, your ma's husband before me...and that makes things real tough. See the thing is...people don't have two pas. Ya can only have one. It's kinda the same thing with husbands. Do you understand?"

"I pick you then for my pa," Katie said firmly.

"Oh, Katie." Cal kissed her brow. "We're gonna figure things out, I promise...but for now ya gotta be real good, hm? Ya can't say everything you're thinking, 'specially in front of your mama, and ya gotta try and give Sully a chance. Try and get to know him. That would make Mama real happy, if ya tried. It'll be fun, I promise."

"No it won't," Katie retorted, disconcerted.

He stroked back her pale locks. "Just give it a chance, all right? Do it for Mama."

"...Can we sleep with you an' Mama?" Katie asked quietly. "Please?"

"Pease?" Byron added.

Cal held back, but then thought, perhaps a bit selfishly, how much easier it would be to be with Michaela if the children were there as well. They could focus on them, and not on how awkward it was being alone with each other. He held out his arms. "I'd like that. Come on. I bet Mama would like it, too."

& & &

"I think they're asleep," Cal whispered. Katie was cuddled to his chest, while Byron rested against his mother, both with a thumb in their mouth for comfort.

Michaela nodded silently and tenderly kissed Byron's head. "It'll be an adjustment for them I suppose, not sleeping in their own beds at home."

"...I shoulda built us our own house before we got married," Cal said abruptly. "It wasn't right to live at the homestead."

"Cal, we had no idea Sully was alive," Michaela insisted.

"I know but..." He closed his eyes, unable to continue.

"...I felt like there was no choice but to move here. Sully didn't want us to go but I insisted on it. It was the right thing to do."

"Right for him, maybe," Cal murmured. "Don't know 'bout us."

"Us," Michaela murmured. Who was us? She and Cal? She and Sully? The children? She swallowed hard.

"I'm sorry, Mike..." Timidly, Cal reached his arm across the slumbering children and caressed Michaela's cheek. She shut her eyes and tensed. Hurt, Cal withdrew. He watched as she quietly turned to her side, curled up, and wept silently, her back shuddering.

Cal was terrified. He was losing her. She was right beside him, yet he couldn't reach out and comfort her, take her away from her pain. Their pain. Suddenly, he felt her hand link with his beneath the covers. She squeezed, and he squeezed back, hard.

to be continued,,,,


	40. Chapter 53

Chapter Fifty-three

Brian placed in front of Sully a plate heaping with scrambled eggs, sausage, and toast. "Here ya go, Pa."

"Thanks," Sully said, picking up his knife and fork. "Ya didn't have to go to all this trouble."

Brian placed his own plate in front of him and took a seat. "I wanted to," he said with a smile.

"These are the best eggs I've tasted in a long time," Sully said approvingly.

"What'd they feed ya in prison?" Brian asked, a little abashed.

Sully shrugged, staring at his plate. "I don't know. Bread, soup, water. Sometimes we got some cheese and milk."

"That don't sound too good," Brian admitted. "...Here I was all along with a roof over my head, lotsa food to eat...I didn't even s'pose ya might be alive and havin' not much of anythin'."

Sully rested his hand on Brian's shoulder. "Don't go thinkin' like that, Brian. Ya didn't know where I was or that I had even survived. None of this is your fault, ya understand me?"

"Ain't ya mad at Ma for marrying Cal?" Brian asked softly. "Don't ya think this is all &her& fault?"

Sully shifted uncomfortably. "Mad?" he replied reluctantly.

"Yeah, because I know I am," Brian retorted. "Ma should be here havin' breakfast with us, and Katie and B., too. Not over at the clinic with &him&. Don't understand why we can't just go back to the way things were."

Sully knew he couldn't tell his son what he was really feeling: hurt, anger and incredible betrayal. He couldn't tell him how he had remained awake nights, fighting images of Michaela and another man lying together. It just wouldn't be fair to burden Brian with his feelings. He was going to have to control his temper for the children's sake. He was going to have to at least pretend to be patient and understanding. "She's got another life now, Brian," Sully told him. "I s'pose I'm more surprised than anythin'. The thought never even crossed my mind all that time I was locked up ..."

Brian patted his arm. "It'll be all right. Ma'll come back to ya, Sully."

Sully bowed his head. "Ain't that easy. I was missin' long enough for folks to think I was gone," he explained, inhaling deeply. "If a body ain't ever found eventually it goes on record the person's dead, no body recovered, and that made your ma a widow. She was free to marry in the court's eyes."

His appetite gone, Brian rested his fork across is plate. "Don't it mean anythin' that you're our pa? Cal ain't our father. You are, Sully."

"Of course I'm your pa," Sully replied. "Nothin' can change that Brian, I promise." He hesitated. "Brian? Cal ... is he ... what's he like?"

Brian crossed his arms, sighing. "... He's all right I s'pose. He's nice t' us."

"He's good to your ma?" Sully asked anxiously.

Brian nodded. "Yeah."

"Do ya think she...she loves 'im?" Sully asked guiltily.

"I guess so. How should I know?" Brian retorted.

"Well, where'd he come from?" Sully pressed. "How long'd they court? How come he didn't build ya a homestead right off?"

Overwhelmed, Brian stood up and cleared his plate. "Ya can ask Ma yourself if ya really wanna know all that."

He hesitated. "I'm sorry, Brian. Ain't right of me t' put ya in the middle."

"Ya just gotta talk to her, Pa," Brian murmured, "make her remember all that we had before the accident. She'll remember. And then she'll wanna come back."

"I don't know what to say to her," Sully admitted quietly. "I ... I can't talk to her like before."

"Yes, ya can," Brian encouraged. "She's still the same. We all are. You're the same, too. Ma knows that, she's just gotta get used to things ... she's just gotta get used to ya ... Pa ... maybe she loves Cal, but ... she loves you more. I know she does."

Sully remained silent, staring at his hands. He wanted to believe Brian, but remained unconvinced. He had been utterly removed from Michaela's life for four years. In four years, so much could happen.

& & &

"Katie?" Teresa Slicker called impatiently. "Katie?"

Startled, the little girl focused on her teacher, straightening her shoulders.

"Your word is 'house,'" Teresa repeated once more.

"House ..." Katie murmured. She stared at her feet. "H-o-s ... e."

A few of the children snickered as Teresa paused, taken aback. Katie had always been one of the brightest of her younger students. It was unusual for her to falter on such a simple word. Then again, for the past several days Katie's behavior hadn't exactly been usual. "I'm sorry. That is incorrect. Please take your seat. Thomas? House, please."

Indifferently, Katie stepped down from the front of the classroom and sunk into her bench, picking up her slate and placing it in her lap. She was relieved Brian hadn't come to school today. He would have surely cast her a look of disappointment and worry. In fact, he had stayed home from school for several days. He was living at the homestead with Sully for a time, Mama had explained, and was getting to know him again. He would return to school shortly. Katie didn't think that seemed very fair, but hadn't been in the mood to argue her point.

"H-o-&u&-s-e," Thomas said confidently. "House."

Katie turned to gaze out the window, removing the happenings around her from her mind. She was not looking forward to the end of the school day. Mama and Byron were going to pick her up and then the three of them were going to drive out to the homestead to spend time with Sully. She had grown to utterly loathe the visits. Byron had warmed up to Sully fairly quickly, though both remained a little shy with each other, but Katie ... she couldn't help but whimper and cling to Michaela when she was urged to approach her father, talk to him, &hug& him. What Brian had said to her when Sully had first come back had stuck in her mind: "Sully is going to be our pa now". That was the last thing Katie wanted. Over and over, she told herself she &hated& the long-haired intruder who had forced his way into their lives. She had repeated it enough to actually believe it. She shut her ears when her mama tried to soothe her with stories of how happy Sully had been to have a little girl, about Katie's first word being 'pa', and how the two of them had been inseparable. But in Katie's mind, "Sully" remained in heaven, an absolute stranger was living at the homestead, and Cal was her papa, tucking her in each night and calling her "Princess." The more Sully tried to talk to Katie, coax her to come to him, reach out and hold her, the harder she refused.

"That will be all for today," Teresa spoke, closing her spelling primer. She turned to the remainder of the class. "Enjoy the rest of the afternoon, children. You are dismissed."

Slowly becoming conscious of the other children gathering their books and racing out of the schoolhouse, Katie stood up and followed the crowd, eyes lowered.

Michaela was waiting with Byron at the base of the steps for her daughter, and instantly smiled as she approached. "How was school?" she asked, lifting her into her arms.

Katie smiled half-heartedly. "Good," she replied simply, resting her head against her mother's shoulder. Mama was someone she felt safe with, more so now than ever. She was glad she had come to pick her up today, though not glad they were going to the homestead.

"Good," Michaela murmured, kissing her cheek. She was mindful of the child's aversion toward visiting Sully, but convinced herself it was for the best. Eventually, she hoped, Katie would come around. It would be difficult for a time but they wouldn't quit. They would get through it and Katie would grow to accept him.

"Mama, when am I gonna go to school?" Byron asked, shielding his eyes from the sun as he looked up at the two.

"School? You want to go to school already?" Michaela teased. "But I want you home with me!"

He giggled and leaned against her as Teresa descended the steps.

"Dr. Quinn?"

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Slicker," Michaela said politely. She and the children's schoolteacher had never been the best of friends, but they had gotten past their differences and developed a mutual respect for one another. Brian and Katie made amazing progress with her, and Michaela greatly appreciated Teresa's efforts.

"May I speak with you?" Teresa asked. "In private?"

"Of course," Michaela replied. She placed Katie on the school steps, picked up Byron, and sat him beside his sister. "Wait here for me, all right?"

"We won't be long," Teresa added, leading Michaela inside. She approached her desk, aimlessly straightening a pile of papers, not certain how to begin.

"I know Brian hasn't been in school all week, but Sully and I thought-" Michaela began.

Teresa looked up. "Brian can take as much time as he needs. I will catch him up when he returns."

Michaela sighed. "Thank you."

"It's Katie I am concerned about," she went on. "...She is completely unfocused throughout the day. Nothing interests her anymore. Has she said anything to you?"

"...No," Michaela admitted guiltily. "I thought it would give her some sense of stability, going about our regular routine."

"Yes, children need stability," Teresa pointed out and Michaela thought she detected a hint of accusation in her tone. "...Over the past week Katie has not raised her hand once. She eats her lunch alone, away from the other children. She no longer wants to join in the games at recess-she sits on the steps by herself. Today during the spelling bee she stumbled on the first word I gave her, 'house.'"

Michaela raised her eyebrows. "House? Katie knows how to spell that. That was one of the words I went over with her the other day."

"She couldn't spell it this afternoon," Teresa said. She opened her desk drawer and pulled out a sheet of paper. "Yesterday I had the children work on several practice problems for the arithmetic test next week. This is what she turned in to me." She handed over the paper.

Michaela glanced at it, puzzled. "Katie Sully," she read.

"She got no farther than writing her name," Teresa explained.

"Are the other children teasing her?" Michaela asked hesitantly, returning the blank paper. "...About Sully being back?"

"That was what I thought, but I have been watching them all carefully. They seem to act very kind to her. She has always been a well-liked child, Dr. Quinn. And after all most of the children were too young to have much memory of Sully and ... and what happened when he was first missing."

"Katie doesn't have any memory of him I'm afraid," Michaela confessed softly. "It's been very difficult for her to adjust to the idea of having her father back when she has just become used to thinking of Cal, in that way. She's grown very attached to Cal. Perhaps more so than I realized. This has just been ... devastating for her."

"I understand. If there's anything I can do ... Dr. Quinn, would it help if Katie took some time away from school? Stay home and be with you and the family for a few weeks, as Brian has done?"

"... I don't know," Michaela said reluctantly.

"She is at least several months ahead of the other children her age," Teresa added. "She absorbs everything so quickly. She shouldn't get behind too much. It will give the others a chance to catch up with her."

"I suppose we could give it a try," Michaela admitted. "See if it makes a difference. Apparently she's not accomplishing very much in the state she's in now."

"Yes. And I will be here when she feels ready to return."

"Thank you for being so patient with her," Michaela said gratefully. "I'm sorry-"

"Don't apologize," Teresa interrupted. "I will do everything I can to help her, and Brian. "

Michaela nodded tearfully. "Thank you so much, Mrs. Slicker."

& & &

Michaela helped Byron down from the wagon seat, and then turned to Katie. The child clung firmly to the arm of the seat, staring at her mother unyieldingly.

"Come on, Katie," Michaela encouraged. "It's time to visit Papa."

Katie made no effort to comply.

Michaela sighed. "It'll be all right, darling. It's all right. You can sit in Mama's lap just like last time, how does that sound?"

"No," Katie whispered firmly.

"That's enough, Katherine Elizabeth," Michaela replied, her patience wearing. "You're going to come down from that seat right now." Decisively, she took the child by the arm.

Katie refused to move, pursing her lips.

"Now, Katie," Michaela insisted.

The child stared at her for a moment, then at last shifted over and let her mother lift her to the ground.

Michaela sighed, putting her arm around her as they ascended the porch stairs, Byron following. "There, you see? There's no reason to be upset. We're just going to go inside and say hello to Papa-"

"No, I don't want to," Katie retorted.

"Go on in, Brynie," Michaela instructed. "It's all right. We'll be outside."

Grudgingly, Byron obeyed, opening the door of the homestead where Sully and Brian waited. Michaela heard him begin an eager conversation with the two about his day, and satisfied, she turned back to Katie. "Are you going to start being a big girl so we can enter the house?" she asked firmly, taking a seat on the porch bench. She was tired of being tolerant and yielding to Katie's conduct. The child was never going to adjust to Sully's presence if Michaela didn't force it along. She felt terrible, but saw it as necessary.

"I don't gotta go," Katie replied.

"I don't have to," Michaela corrected, "and yes you do." Michaela instantly regretted her words. She so wanted Katie to grow to love Sully, but could barely stand being administrator to the child's obvious torment. She softened. "...Katie, sweetheart, what is it you're frightened of? You see Byron? He went right in and is playing with Papa. Papa loves us."

"I hate him!" the child responded.

Hurt, Michaela stroked back her hair. "...Why?"

Katie sniffled. "'Cause I just hate him. I wanna go home ... I mean back to the clinic. Please? Please, Mama?"

"No, not until you start behaving yourself," Michaela replied calmly. "I don't like to hear that you hate anyone, and especially without reason."

"I hate &you&, too!" the child went on, eyes dark and filled with pain.

Michaela bit her lip hard, unable to respond.

Katie hesitated, struggling to hold back tears. " ... If Sully is our papa now ... what is Cal?"

Caught off guard, Michaela wasn't sure how to reply. Silently, she lifted the little girl into her lap. "Katie ... oh, darling, I'm sorry," she at last choked. "I know you don't like to be here but-but Mama wouldn't want you to do something that makes you unhappy if it wasn't best for you. And I had hoped ... hoped that eventually you would enjoy coming here and being with your papa. He loves being with you, sweetheart."

"Mama, ya make me," Katie whimpered, swiping at her tears. "I h-hate it, Mama."

Michaela rocked her gently as Sully appeared in the doorway. "I know ... I'm sorry. Katie, I love you so much." She kissed her cheek tenderly. "I love you, sweetheart. Things will work out, in time. It'll be all right. We have to give it a chance. We just have to give it a chance."

Katie clutched a portion of her mother's blouse for comfort, as she had when she was an infant. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

"Oh, shh," Michaela soothed. "I know. It's all right to be angry. It's all right to be confused. It's hard, I know, but we have to try. Mama's trying, and I want you to try, too, darling, all right?"

Sully stepped over and knelt beside the two, silently gazing up at Michaela. Then, carefully, he placed his hand on Katie's back, rubbing it tenderly.

Katie opened her eyes, sensing a difference in the hand on her back. It was large, warm, the touch stronger. It wasn't Mama. Slowly, she turned her head to face him, instantly tensing and looking away.

"It's me, Katie," Sully murmured gently. "I won't hurt ya."

The child thought over her mother's words. I want you to try, she had said. Holding herself firmly in check, she allowed Sully to tenderly stroke her hair.

"Kates," he began softly, "what would ya think of goin' on a picnic next Saturday? You an' me, and your ma and brothers."

" ... Oh, that sounds nice," Michaela encouraged.

"We can have Grace make us fried chicken and potato salad. That's your favorite, ain't it?"

Reluctantly, Katie met his eyes.

"It is," Michaela murmured. "You remember, Sully."

"What do ya say?" Sully asked.

Biting her lip, Katie quickly nodded, clutching Michaela tighter.

Sully smiled. " ... Good. Saturday it is then."

& & &

"Over here! Over here, Sull-wee!" Byron giggled, poking his father's back.

"Where are ya?" Sully growled, blindfolded and arms outstretched. "I'll get ya!"

Byron squealed, dodging around his father and running to his brother.

"We're over here now, Pa. Ya can't catch us I bet," Brian laughed. He glanced over at his little sister, standing quietly beside the picnic blanket. Michaela sat beside her, watching the game with a soft smile. "Come on, Kate. Come an' play," Brian encouraged, gesturing for her to join them with one hand.

Katie simply shook her head, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

Byron tugged on his father's shirt, all giggles, and instantly Sully spun around, swiping the little boy off his feet. "Who'd I get? Who'd I get?"

"Me, Sull-wee! Me!" Byron exclaimed, pulling the blindfold down from his father's eyes. "You sure are fast!"

Sully gently tossed his hair. "Told ya I'd catch one of ya, one of these days." He placed him on his feet. "Your turn now. I'm gonna take a break. Ya tired me out." He tied the blindfold loosely over his son's eyes, spun him around to face Brian and then gave his bottom a gentle pat. "Go get 'em."

"Kate, ya gotta play now," Brian told her. "It's no fun with just two people."

"I'll get ya, Katie!" Byron shouted, scampering blindly in her direction.

Katie observed her father coming toward the blanket. "All ... all right. I'll play," she agreed, hurriedly joining her brothers.

The children continued their game of Blind Man's Bluff as Sully took a seat on the blanket next to Michaela. "...Sure are full of energy," he began, nervously scratching his chin.

"They certainly are," Michaela said. "They're always one step ahead of me, wondering what's in store next, what fun is planned for them next."

"I'll bet," Sully remarked.

"Katie ... Katie's doing better," Michaela told him.

Sully sighed. "No she ain't. She ain't even speakin' to me."

"She will," Michaela said optimistically. "She just has to get used to you."

"How long's that gonna take?" he demanded. "Months? Years?"

"No one said it would be easy," she retorted. "I think you should be grateful I even brought her today in the first place. Cal thought it would be better if she stayed home."

"Ya let him just order ya around?"

"Of course not," Michaela replied, her temper rising. "He was looking out for Katie's best interest. She's clearly very distraught by all this, Sully. We have to be patient with her, reassure her."

"I don't know what else I'm s'posed to do," he admitted. "She won't let me get near her, or even hardly look at me."

"We have to be patient," Michaela repeated. "Her father has been removed from her life for four years."

"And that's my fault," Sully said sarcastically.

She bit back tears. "I didn't say that."

"You were thinkin' it."

"Well, what do you expect me to be thinking?" Michaela responded, struggling to keep her composure. "You get involved with something or other with the Indians, completely behind my back, and not only that but behind the law's back, and then vanish without so much as a goodbye. I find O'Connor's body strewn across a gutting rock and somehow I'm supposed to calmly conclude that you've been detained in prison, instead of in pieces on the bottom of the creek! But not to worry, eventually you'll come home and everything will be back to normal."

"Michaela, I'm sorry," he pleaded passionately, eyes filled with tears. "...I'm &sorry&,"

"How do you want me to answer that?" Michaela retorted hoarsely. "'Oh, that's all right, Sully? Don't give it another thought? W-what's four years anyway?'" She turned her head, hiding a sudden flow of tears.

Impulsively, Sully leaned forward, cupping her cheek in his hand, and kissed her. Surprised, Michaela flinched at first, then settled into his caress. The feel of his lips converging with hers, his whiskers brushing against her cheek, his strong arms wrapped comfortingly around her back, was as wonderful as she had always remembered it. For a moment, it was as if everything really was back to normal. She could close her eyes and imagine her life with Sully before the accident ... before Cal. She put her arms around him, caressing his hair, losing herself in the kiss.

Sully shifted closer, nuzzling her neck while his fingers worked at loosening the piece of rawhide that tied off her long braid.

"Sully," she said breathlessly, grasping his shirt, unfastening the first few buttons and working her hands inside; needing to touch his bare chest to reassure herself once more it was indeed real.

Slowly, Michaela became conscious of their daughter, watching them solemnly, standing under a nearby tree.

Michaela pulled back slightly, meeting Katie's eyes. The little girl quickly turned, running to return to her brothers.

"I'm sorry," Sully murmured, stroking her cheek as he pressed his forehead to hers. "Michaela, look at me. I'm sorry about everything. Let's just be together. I love ya. Four years don't mean a thing when it comes t' that."

"No, I-we shouldn't do this," she whispered, shaken by the very real knowledge of her commitment to two men. "I don't understand all that's happening, what we're all feeling, Sully."

"I feel us," he whispered back. He kissed the corner of her lips softly. "Don't you? Tell me ya don't."

She swallowed, closing her eyes. Abruptly she stood up, straightening her skirt. "Byron! Katie!"

In the course of their game, the children had wandered a few hundred yards away from the blanket. Reluctantly, they returned to their mother.

"I catched Brian, Mama!" Byron told her, hugging her legs.

"That's nice," Michaela said quickly. "Say goodbye to Papa now. We need to go."

"Why?" Brian put in. "Ya just got here."

Sully sighed deeply. "It's all right, Brian. We oughta get goin', too."

Katie clinging to her skirts, Michaela looked on awkwardly as Byron gave Sully a hug goodbye. She was struck by an overwhelming dread. They couldn't carry on much longer like this. Cal was the man the children had grown to know and love. He was the only father they had every known and he was her best friend. But her love for Sully's had never diminished. Finding out he was well and safe had been like finding the other half of her soul. It would be impossible to ever let him go again ...

to be continued...


	41. Chapter 54

Chapter Fifty-four

"I think it's going to be another nice day today," Michaela remarked as she brushed Katie's hair in one of the recovery rooms.

Katie sat cross-legged on the bed, toying with the pink ribbon around the neck of the stuffed bear cradled in her arms.

"Perhaps you and I could take a walk this morning and look for herbs," Michaela persisted. "I know I could really use your help."

Katie sighed. She hadn't felt like doing much of anything-not since Sully had been back. She felt safest at the clinic, clinging to Michaela or Cal. "I don't wanna go for a walk," the child replied quietly. "I wanna stay here."

"Well, all right. We'll stay here if you'd like." Michaela placed the brush beside her and began braiding Katie's hair. "Do you know you've had that bear since you were a baby? You never wanted it to leave your side." Her eyes glazed over at the memory. "One Sunday we were driving to church, you were crying, and we had no idea why. Finally, we realized we'd forgotten to bring your bear with us!" Michaela paused, waiting for a reaction from her solemn daughter that never came. "Sully turned the wagon right around to get it for you," she added softly. "He wanted you to have it, even if it meant we might be late."

Silently, Katie loosened her loving hold on the bear and let it fall to the floor.

Michaela glanced at the toy for a moment, but decided against picking it up. She tied off Katie's braid with a piece of rawhide and shifted to sit beside her. "You've been so quiet since our picnic the other day."

She waited for Katie to speak, again receiving no response. She was fairly certain Katie's behavior had to do with what she had seen at the picnic, but wasn't sure how to best broach the subject. "You had a good time, didn't you?" Michaela spoke. "Sweetheart ... what is it that's troubling you? You can tell Mama. Are you upset because you came across Sully and I ... well, together? I-I know that must have been confusing for you."

"You were kissin'," she accused. "You and Cal do that, too."

Michaela nodded, stroking her hair. Sully's caresses had instantly brought her back to all that they had before he had disappeared. Being in his arms had seemed so natural and right. The ease at which she had been able to momentarily forget her vows to Cal and all that they had shared during the past four years frightened and confused her. Looking up to see Katie watching them had not only brought her back to reality but had left her with a sense of overwhelming guilt. She could hardly expect Katie to understand when she herself didn't understand all that she was feeling. She loved Sully with all her heart, but she couldn't deny she had loved Cal, too. As much as she ached to be affectionate with Sully, it didn't feel right being with him in that way behind Cal's back.

"Mama was feeling a lot of overwhelming things at the time, too," Michaela began. "Sometimes being with someone we care about-kissing with them and holding them ... sometimes that's easier than making the effort to work through what's troubling us." She cleared her throat. "Do you understand?"

Katie kept her eyes focused on her feet. "I guess so."

"Well, would you like to talk about it some more?" she persisted. "Is there anything you'd like to ask me? I want to help you with this, darling. I don't want to see you so upset."

Katie turned to face her mother. "Do we gotta have another picnic?" she said plainly.

"Mama!" Byron called suddenly.

Michaela looked up, keeping her arm around Katie. "In here, Brynie."

"Mama, look!" he said, running into the room and pointing at his feet. "I tied my shoes all by myself! Look, Katie! Look, Mama!"

Michaela beamed. "You did? Oh, sweetheart!"

He bounded onto the bed, squeezing his way between his mother and sister and putting his feet, bearing slightly disheveled boots and laces, into Michaela's lap. "All by myself!" he repeated proudly.

"Well, indeed," Michaela chuckled, patting his leg. "You did wonderful!"

"Ain't-aren't I do a good job, Katie?" Byron asked, tugging on her sleeve.

"It's good," she said unemotionally, barely pausing to glance at his shoes.

"Uh-oh," he sang, sliding back to the floor and picking up Katie's stuffed animal. "You drops this, Katie," he informed her, holding it out. "You dropped Mista Bear."

Katie crossed her arms, looking away. "No. I don't want him."

Surprised, Byron stepped closer to her. "Mista Bear, Katie. Look. Ya dropped him." He ran his fingers over the animal's fuzzy head. "He's gonna be all right. Don't worry."

"Here, Byron, I'll hold onto him-" Michaela began.

"Katie, here," Byron insisted, tenderly laying the toy in her lap.

The little girl instantly reacted, picking it up and shoving it back in her brother's arms. "I said I don't want him, Byron!" she shouted, sliding from the bed and making for the door.

Byron followed her, lip trembling. "But Mista Bear-"

"You can have him," she whispered as she turned and ran out of the room.

Byron watched her go, then turned back to his mother, tears trickling down his cheeks.

"Oh," Michaela murmured, holding her arms out. "Come here, sweetheart."

He ran to her embrace, holding on tight.

"Shh," Michaela soothed, lifting him into her lap. "Katie's just upset right now. Shh. It has nothing to do with you."

"Why's she u-upset?" he sniveled, wiping his nose.

"Well, I suppose because having Sully back is frightening for her," Michaela explained softly.

"But he is nice," Byron contended, cuddling the bear against his chest. "And now we got two papas. Cal is still the bestest but Sull-wee is pwetty fun, too."

She closed her eyes and rested her chin on his head. "I'm glad you're getting to know Sully; he's so happy to be with you and get to know you. But he wants that with Katie, too-and she's just not ready yet. It's just going to take some time." She kissed his head. "Until then, will you hold onto Mr. Bear for her?"

He swallowed back tears, taking the assignment to heart. "All right. I take good care of him."

"Good boy," she murmured. "You've been such a good helper for Mama. I'm so proud of you. I love you, Brynie."

Tenderly, he reached up and kissed her cheek. "Love you, Mama," he told her sweetly.

& & &

"She's ... she's different, Robert E.," Sully told his friend, clutching the corral fence with his fists.

"She ain't different," Robert E. replied. He picked up a crooked wagon seat spring and placed it in the forge.

Sully sighed. "She is. Can't tell ya how bad I wanna have her in my arms ... hold her 'til I can't anymore. And the kids ... I wanna be with them all the time, too. I've missed so much with Brian and Katie ... Byron. I want to hear all about them. But she won't talk to me."

"Maybe she wants to know about you," Robert E. suggested. "Ya told 'er anything about what these years were like for you?"

Sully hesitated. "... I don't much like to talk about it. 'Sides, that's in the past now."

"Well, maybe she don't like to talk about the past either," Robert E. said. He picked up his tongs, removed the spring from the forge, and placed it on the anvil. "... She know what she's gonna do?"

Sully bit his lip. "I don't know. We're takin' things one step at a time, havin' the kids get to know me first. Robert E ... what we had ... ya can't deny that. I love her, I've always wanted her to be happy ... but I ... I don't know if I can live without 'er."

"Ever think maybe Cal might feel the same way?" Robert E. suggested softly.

"He can't love her like I do," Sully retorted.

"Ya met him?" Robert E. asked. He tapped the spring lightly with his hammer.

"I s'pose once. In the woods. I didn't know it was him at the time."

"He's a good man, Sully," Robert E. told him. "He's been good to Dr. Mike. Ya know she wouldn't settle for just anybody."

"I know ... I got married a second time, too, after Abigail ... the best decision I ever made. But Robert E., that's different. Michaela couldn't of known for sure I was gone. She shoulda thought I could be alive. She shoulda felt that."

"Maybe she did," Robert E. ventured.

Sully paused. "What do ya mean?"

"Seems to me it took Dr. Mike years before she was ready for Cal t' start courtin' her. She wasn't interested in anything for a long time. All that woman wanted, Sully, was to have you back." He placed the spring back in the forge.

Sully kicked at the dirt with the toe of his boot, desperately wanting to direct his anger at someone, the most obvious choice Michaela and Cal, but finding it increasingly difficult to lay the blame on anyone but himself. He was the one who disappeared from his wife and family, no explanations, and it was his fault he had been thrown into prison, unable to send word. His heedlessness and impatience had caused him to fail twice at escaping. He was responsible for everything, he thought, his stomach tightened with guilt and shame.

"...Ya got a lot here for sale," Sully remarked, struggling to push aside his thoughts as he nodded at the dozen or so horses boarded in the corral.

"Three of 'em are Cal's, for his streetcars," Robert E. told him. "I don't mind keepin' 'em here when he ain't usin' 'em."

"Ya do that for him?"

Robert E. shrugged. "We get along. Had somethin' in common right off, with both of us knowin' about horses. He's always treated me like we're the same. Not like most folks in town." He paused, deciding it was best to give his friend the truth. "Sully...I was best man, at Dr. Mike and Cal's wedding. I was happy for 'em. I wanted to be a part of it."

Sully inhaled slowly. Robert E. had befriended Michaela's new husband. Though Sully would never admit it, he felt a twinge of jealousy. "Didn't realize you were that close," he murmured, folding his arms uncomfortably. Robert E. had been his closest friend before the accident. He was the one person he thought he could confide in, but now it seemed awkward.

"Listen Sully, we looked for six months for ya," Robert E. said. "After all that nobody was crazy enough to believe ya could still be alive. We were all glad Dr. Mike finally let a marker be put in the cemetery for ya. We didn't think it was healthy to hold out hope like she was. If Cal had reason to believe ya might have made it he wouldn't of even thought of being anythin' more than a friend to Dr. Mike. He wasn't tryin' to take your place. He came to me many a time, wonderin' what to do with his feelings for her, 'specially when she weren't ready to return 'em right off."

Sully looked into his friend's eyes. "Robert E ... she love him?"

"I s'pose Dr. Mike ain't one to marry somebody she don't love," Robert E. replied simply. He removed his sooty gloves, laying them across a nearby bench. "Sully, I ain't tryin' to make things sound better than they are. You're all in a fix. But it ain't gonna help goin' around being angry at everybody that crosses your path. It happened. Stop wantin' to wring everybody's neck and start figurin' out how you're all gonna get through this."

Sully lowered his head, realizing his friend was right. "I'm tryin'," he said softly.

"I know ya are," Robert E. replied.

Sully nodded, then extended his hand. "Thanks. Thanks for listenin'."

Robert E. clasped Sully's hand firmly. "We're still friends, Sully. I'm still here, whenever ya need. Some things don't ever change."

"Thanks, Robert E." Sully murmured.

& & &

Sully gradually made his way toward the clinic. He sauntered through the café, allowing himself to be detained by several townsfolk eager to say hello to him. Folks always told him how glad they were he was back, what a miracle it was, and seemed genuinely happy he had survived, but Sully detected pity in their eyes whenever they looked at him. No one had an answer to the mess he was in and most people weren't about to take sides.

He paused in his steps, watching a young father lift his toddler son onto a chair as Grace brought them each a slice of pie. Sully's thoughts instantly shifted to the children. He had quickly developed an intense bond with the sweet little boy who was his son. He found himself unable to stop gazing at him, holding him, caressing his hair. Byron seemed to like him well enough, Sully thought, though he sensed the child thought of him as strictly a friend-a friend who played with him. Byron almost naturally referred to his father as "Sully," as if he couldn't be anything else. Sully thought about asking him to call him "papa," maybe soon, but was afraid of pushing too much too fast.

And Katie ... he couldn't ignore the ache he felt when she refused to even acknowledge him, but nonetheless, his love for her was just as powerful as the day she was born. He wanted ... no, &needed& to see his children, and more often than after school every few days. Brian living with him at the homestead was wonderful, but he wanted all three of them together. He decided he would take a chance and make his way to the clinic, hoping that Byron and Katie would be there. He could tell Michaela his legs were smarting, as they often did ever since the accident, and then while she prepared some willow bark tea for the discomfort, he could be with the children. Set on his plan, he quickened his pace.

He stopped short as he spotted Cal, slowing a wagon to a stop in front of the clinic porch and hopping down from the seat. He took a step back, peeking at the scene from behind the side of the clinic. He heard the front door swing open as Katie and Byron scurried out into view, all smiles, squeezing Cal's legs as he tousled their hair fondly. Sully bit his lip. The children never ran to him like that, as much as he wished they would. Not even Byron. He always had to be urged along by Michaela, and even then, his hug was simple and devoid of real emotion.

One at a time, Cal picked up Katie and Byron and placed them in the back of the wagon, telling them something to which they burst into giggles. Next, he extended his hand and Michaela came into view, her long leather coat unbuttoned and her medical bag at her side. Sully watched, eyes narrowed, as Cal stepped forward, took Michaela's bag from her, and tenderly kissed her cheek as she smiled in greeting.

Clenching his teeth, Sully turned away. He was an intruder on a happy family. They had all moved on without him. The irrational part in him wanted to strangle Cal until he couldn't anymore. The rational part of him clung to what little hope remained.

& & &

Cal drew the curtains closed over each of the clinic windows and then walked to the door and turned the key in the lock. Michaela was seated rigid and focused, a pen poised in her ink-speckled fingers, pouring through a thick stack of medical records beside the lamp. He placed the key on the edge of her desk.

"Ya comin' up to bed?" he asked softly. "Ya've been working on that all evening, Mike."

She looked up hesitantly, clearing her throat. "You go ahead. I want to finish this."

He swallowed. "What are you doing exactly?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady. She was avoiding him, he knew just by watching her. In fact she had made excuses to get around coming to bed with him for the past several days. An hour or so later, he would feel her slide under the covers and curl up at the edge of the mattress. They often awoke the next morning in one another's arms, the position more inherent than deliberate, but the early morning talks and tender good morning kisses they had always shared had long faded to disappearance.

"Nothing," Michaela said quickly. "Just updating a few things."

She tensed as he circled the desk and caressed her shoulder. Guilt tightened her throat and left a sickening hollowness in her stomach. The passionate kiss she had shared with Sully several days before remained fresh in her mind, coming to a head every time she looked at Cal. Not only had she confused and disturbed Katie, but she had left herself equally troubled and bewildered. There was something terribly wrong about snuggling up with Cal at night while Sully was alive, his kisses instantly stirring to life a passion she thought she had long put to rest.

Initially, her focus had been giving the homestead back to Sully. She hadn't taken time to consider the logistics of what she and Cal would do. The first night in the clinic he had joined her in bed almost as a matter of course, and she hadn't said anything. Now, she wished she had. Until they knew what on earth they were going to do, it wouldn't be right to be intimate with either Sully or Cal. She felt as if she had betrayed them both, and for that she was terribly guilt-ridden.

"Ya thinking about Katie?" Cal asked. "She's been real upset lately. More than she ever was before."

"I know," she whispered.

"Did he say something to her?" he persisted. "What happened, Mike?"

"Sully didn't say anything, Cal," she replied, staring at her hands. "It was my fault. My fault for not ... thinking."

"Well, come to bed," he implored. "We can talk about it."

She bit her lip. "I need to finish."

He sighed. "Mike, before all this you've always been able to be honest with me. Now it seems like ya never want to tell me anything. You're quiet, you hide things from me. You're up and ready every morning before I'm hardly awake. Ya dress in the darkest corner of the room, your back to me, like you're ashamed. What is it your ashamed of?"

She placed the pen in its holder and closed the chart she had been working on. "I'm sorry."

He knelt to her level, swallowing. "No, don't be sorry. I just want ya to tell me what I can do to make it better. I want ya to feel ya can still tell me anything, no matter what happens."

She reluctantly turned to face him. He was wrong. She couldn't tell him everything. She couldn't tell him about what had happened between she and Sully at the picnic. It would hurt Cal too much. She could however, fix the situation at hand. She had to, for everyone's sake. "I've been thinking lately perhaps it might be better if ... Cal, I need some time to sort things out and I ..."

Closing his eyes, he nodded. He had expected this eventually, had thought of even bringing it up himself, though as much as he had prepared himself for this moment, the pain of it was still sharp. Slowly Michaela was being pulled from his life. "It's all right. I've been thinking the same thing."

She sighed, relieved he seemed to share her sentiments. "I think perhaps it might be better if you go on to bed ... and I sleep down here for the time being," she said steadily.

He reached out to take her hand, not sure he would be able to let go. "You're right. But you take the bed upstairs. I'll sleep here on the cot. Go on up now. It's getting late."

She rose to her feet. "If you're certain. I truly don't mind staying here."

"Naw, it's fine. You'll want to be up there with the kids," he said.

She lightly kissed his cheek, eyes lowered, and turned for the door to the stairs. She opened it slowly, then reverted, drawing in her breath. "Cal ... thank you."

He nodded bravely. "See you in the morning, Mike."

"Goodnight," she whispered.

& & &

Cal sunk into a chair in the café as Grace placed a steaming cup of coffee in front of him. She turned to her husband, on his afternoon break, and refilled his mug.

"I love 'er," Cal said quietly, eyes filled with anguish.

Robert E. sipped at his coffee. He couldn't begin to describe how torn he was feeling, being so close to both Cal and Sully. He and Grace had lain awake for hours the night before, talking it over. At last they decided the only thing to do was to be the best friends they could to both men. Neither was about to offer advice as to what either Sully or Cal should do about their situation, but they wanted to be there for them, if only to listen.

"Back when we first met, I told myself I was gonna do everything to help her get better," Cal went on, staring into his coffee cup. "I told myself if I could, I'd bring Sully back, so's she could be happy again. And I meant that. Now..."

"Things are different," Grace supplied.

Cal sighed. "Yeah ... I knew when I married her I could never measure up, but I guess I had hoped..."

"Dr. Mike loves ya, Cal," Robert E. told him. "You know that. Maybe it's different, but she cares for you. This ain't gonna be easy for anybody."

"Robert E...sometimes I ... I wish it were me she could be happiest with."

"It ain't wrong for either of ya to be thinkin' that. Ya both love her," Robert E. told him. "That ain't in question."

"Ya gotta think of the children, too," Grace added softly.

"The children," Cal breathed. "I'm happy for 'em, finally meetin' their pa...but neither one of 'em remembers Sully. Katie's scared of him, even. They wanna be with me and Mike. Nobody can pretend the two of us haven't been their parents for a long time now. If I lose Michaela, I don't know how I'm gonna go on...but to lose the kids, too? We're a family." Suddenly tears came to his eyes. "How're we just gonna erase all that we had? I was the first person to hold Byron! How can we erase that?"

Robert E. grasped his shoulder, not knowing how to comfort him. "Ya can't," he said softly.

"Oh, thank goodness. I see Cal sitting over there," Dorothy said, leading Loren by the arm between the clinic and her newspaper office to enter the café.

"Aw, Dorothy, it's nothin'," Loren insisted, a blood-spotted towel wrapped around his left hand as he kept up with the anxious redhead.

"Nothin'?" Dorothy gasped. "I saw that wound. It was gushin' blood. I wouldn't call that nothin'!" She waved her hand. "Cal! Cal!"

Startled, Cal turned from his conversation with Grace and Robert E. and stood up. "Dorothy, Mr. Bray." He glanced at the towel. "What happened? Are ya all right?"

"I'm fine," Loren grumbled. "I just dropped a jar of canned peaches, stocking shelves."

"He cut himself cleanin' it up," Dorothy sighed. "And this fool was ready to go right about his business."

"Dr. Mike should look at it," Grace said.

"Don't seem too bad, but it looks like it might need a few stitches," Robert E. observed, carefully removing the towel.

"Stitches!" Loren exclaimed.

Cal patted his back. "They hardly hurt a bit, 'specially when Mike does 'em."

"Michaela isn't in the clinic, Cal," Dorothy said. "We hoped you'd know where she is."

Cal hesitated. "She's...she's over at the homestead with the kids. I'll fetch her."

Dorothy's face fell with sympathy for him. "Oh, Cal. We can go out to the Chateau. Andrew should be there."

Cal waved his hand. "No, don't go all that way. I can be back with Mike in less than an hour. She'll wanna stitch that up. Keep pressure on it while you're waiting, Mr. Bray, and hold your hand up in the air, above your heart. Don't take that towel off until Mike looks at it."

"What do you know about it? You're not the doctor, boy," Loren retorted. "I'm goin' to Jake's-"

"Loren!" Dorothy scolded. "You're going to sit right here and wait for Michaela. If it weren't for Cal bein' so kind and gettin' her you'd bleed to death before our eyes. I'm sorry, Cal."

Cal smiled. "That's all right. Stay here. I'll be back."

"Thank you," Dorothy said gratefully.

to be continued...


	42. Chapter 55

Chapter Fifty-five

Sully sat on the homestead porch, his tomahawk cradled in his hands, Byron snuggled in his lap. "Your ma kept this for me," Sully explained. "If you're ever lost, ya got this, you can survive. I'll get ya your own someday, son."

Byron carefully touched the wooden handle, his mother eyeing him protectively, Katie on her hip. "This is a big knife," he remarked.

Brian grinned, arms folded. "It's called a tomahawk, B."

"Tom-hawk," Byron repeated determinedly.

"I had my nicest one with me when I got hurt," Sully told him. "When I got in prison, they took it away. But it don't matter much how good your tomahawk is. It's how good ya throw it."

"Pa can hit anything with it, right Ma?" Brian spoke up proudly.

Michaela smiled faintly, taking a seat at the base of the stairs and settling Katie in her lap. "That's right." The little girl was toying with her bootlaces, feigning boredom with the conversation. The only sign she was even aware of her surroundings was when Michaela had attempted a few minutes before to move her from her hip to the steps beside Sully. Instantly, Katie moaned and held tight to her mother, and Michaela hadn't pressed her further.

"Where'd ya get this tom-hawk?" Byron asked curiously.

"Cloud Dancin' made it for me," Sully told him.

"Cloud Dancin' has long hair like you, Sull-wee," Byron informed him.

Sully smiled. "Yep. Me and him, we're brothers."

Byron's eyes widened. "You are bwothers? Me and Brian are bwothers."

"You've seen Cloud Dancing, haven't you, Sully?" Michaela asked curiously.

He nodded, glancing down at her. "He comes by almost every week if he can, when he can get a day pass. We go huntin'. I've missed him."

"I know. He missed you, too," Michaela replied.

"Real bwothers?" Byron persisted.

Sully smoothed the little boy's hair. "Cheyenne brothers. It's kinda like best friends. Cloud Dancin' saved my life. And he taught me a lot of things I'm grateful for, mostly about givin' back to the earth what ya take. I'll teach you, too, son."

"Jimmy is my best friend," Byron said. "He plays wid me and my mama and his mama sew 'cause there is a circle and there is sewin' when Mama gots a circle."

Brian patted the little boy's shoulder. "He means the sewin' circle, Pa. It's Mrs. Wharton's son. B.'s newest best friend."

Sully kissed his head. "That's good, Byron. I wanna hear all about ya, all right? All of ya. Ya just keep on talkin'."

"All wight," the child agreed readily. "Sull-wee, will you throw this here tom-hawk? Will you show me? Please?"

Sully smiled proudly, squeezing the little boy to his chest. "Yeah, I'll show ya. Would ya like that, Byron? I'll show ya."

"Who's that comin' down the road?" Brian asked, shielding his eyes from the sun. "They're comin' kinda fast."

Michaela turned around. "... It's Cal," she spoke with surprise as he came into clear view.

Sully snapped his head up, clenching his teeth. "What's...what's he doin' out here?" he asked as calmly as he could.

"Yeah, this is our time to visit Sully," Brian put in.

Sully laid his hand on Brian's back. "No, it's all right, son."

"It's not," Brian retorted. "This is our time with you."

Cal put the break on the wagon, pausing as he gazed at the scene on the porch. It was as if he were intruding on a family portrait: Sully with his youngest son on his knee, Brian standing beside them, hand resting fondly on his father's shoulder, Michaela at Sully's feet, Katie nestled in her lap. He wanted to turn around and leave, suddenly feeling he had no right to disturb the happy scene, terrified he was losing them all.

It was too late. They had already spotted him.

"Hey, Cal!" Byron called, waving. "Sull-wee is showing me his tom-hawk. Wanna see?"

"Hush, sweetheart," Michaela chastised gently. She stood up, placed Katie on her feet, and met Cal at the wagon.

"You come to take us back to the clinic, Cal?" Katie asked hopefully, catching up with her mother and grasping her hand.

Cal cleared his throat. "No ... uh ... Loren, Mike. He cut his hand. Cut it on some glass." He glanced around awkwardly, hesitant to meet Sully's eyes. "Uh ... don't worry about it. I can get Andrew." He turned.

"Where on his hand, Cal?" Michaela asked anxiously.

He turned back slowly as he examined his own hand. "Well, here I guess," he said, pointing at the base of his thumb.

"He might have severed an artery," Michaela said. "Was he bleeding quite severely?"

"He soaked a towel," Cal admitted.

"I'll come right away," Michaela replied, spinning around and heading back to the porch while Katie lagged back with Cal. "I'm sorry, Sully," she began. "Loren's cut his hand and from the sound of things he'll need stitches."

"Is he all right?" Brian asked worriedly.

Michaela nodded. "I think so. But I need to go back to town right away to be sure." She held out her hand. "Say goodbye to Papa, Byron. Time to go."

Byron inhaled bravely. "No, Mama. Sull-wee is gonna show me his tom-hawk throwin'."

"Next time, sweetheart," Michaela replied patiently. "Mr. Bray needs Mama's help. Come on."

Byron pursed his lips firmly. "No! I stay here with him!" He gently hugged his very surprised father.

Sully cleared his throat, rubbing Byron's back tenderly. "Well, he could visit a little bit longer maybe, Michaela. Then I could drop him off at the clinic."

Michaela hesitated, gazing at Byron's expectant expression. "...You'll bring him back in an hour or so, before supper?"

"I'll drive him back, Ma," Brian offered. "This'll be fun. Just the three of us."

Byron giggled. "Just me an' Sull-wee an' Brian."

Michaela stepped up onto the porch and kissed Byron's head. "... All right. But be careful and I'll look for you to come home soon."

"Yea!" Byron squealed. "Bye, Mama. Bye, Katie. Bye, Cal!"

Cal raised his hand silently, incredibly hurt Byron didn't want to go with him, but telling himself the child needed to get to know his pa. He turned away from the image of father and son at last united, gave Michaela a hand up onto the seat and boosted Katie up onto her lap. Riding home, he couldn't speak, unable to put out of his mind how uncomfortable and even frightening it had been to see Sully and Michaela together, the children with their real father. He felt terrible pulling Michaela away from it all, though deep within himself pulling her away was what he wanted to do the most. The relief he felt to have her back at his side filled him with great shame. For a brief moment, he glanced at Michaela, noticing tears of pain glistening in her eyes.

& & &

"I appreciate ya comin' out here these past few weeks, Matthew," Sully said, thrusting his shovel into the dry ground as he looked up at the young man.

"Work goes a lot quicker when ya got two pairs of hands," Matthew replied simply as he knelt beside a fence post laying on the ground and worked a piece of sandpaper over the rough areas.

"That it does," Sully agreed as he pulled his gloves on tighter. "These repairs are really comin' along. I've been wantin' to replace these rottin' posts."

Matthew looked up briefly, clearing his throat. "Cal-he was pretty busy with the streetcar business in town. There wasn't a lot of time for keepin' the place fixed up."

Sully heaved a pile of dirt over his shoulder and jammed the shovel back into the earth with his boot. "I got plenty of time I guess."

Matthew removed his hat and smoothed back his hair. "Sully? How's Brian doin'? You two all right here?"

"It's quiet during the day, what with him back in school now," Sully admitted. "But it's real nice havin' him here with me when he gets out. It's been goin' good."

"He really missed ya," Matthew said, standing up. "He took the hurt he was feelin', turned it around and used that energy to help out Dr. Mike, the kids."

Sully paused in his work, resting his hands atop the handle of the shovel and listening silently.

"He made sure all the chores were done, Katie was fed and looked after, kept the house runnin'."

"Michaela says he did a real good job lookin' after things," Sully remarked.

"And lookin' after her," Matthew replied. " ... The day we had that memorial service, I think that was the hardest for everybody," he went on softly. "It was around the end of September, and we'd spent weeks and weeks talkin' to Dr. Mike, gettin' her to let us put a marker in the graveyard for ya, to have the service. Sully, she needed to do it for her own sake and for the kids, too." He drew in his breath, gathering the strength to continue. "Afterward, the three of us-me and Brian and Colleen-we stayed with her for a couple weeks. I mean, right with her. Had to. I suppose we were afraid to leave her alone. I-I didn't know what to do for her ... but Brian, that first night he sat on the bed beside her and held her hand even into the next mornin'. He talked to her for hours, even had her talkin' a little about Byron comin' in a few months, thinkin' about names, and she hardly ever would say a word about that. It was always hard gettin' her to rest. Andrew wanted to give her somethin' to help but he didn't know anything that'd be safe, didn't want to risk it, what with her carrying the baby then. Brian though, that night he got her to close her eyes and sleep some. Only he could."

Sully let out his breath, shaking his head. "... He's been through a lot."

Matthew took a step closer to him. "I just want ya to know he loves Dr. Mike ... our ma, as much as any son could and there was nothin' he wouldn't do for her or the family. He really felt he was man of the house while you were gone. He took it to heart. I'm real proud of him."

"So am I," Sully murmured. "I'm grateful to have him. All of ya."

Matthew clasped his arm. "... Let's take a break. Sit up on the porch."

The two men grabbed their canteens and walked side by side across the yard, ascending the porch steps, taking a seat on the bench, and enjoying the warm breeze for a few minutes without speaking.

Finally, Matthew leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Dr. Mike's asked me to do somethin' for her."

Sully glanced at him. "What's that?"

"Well, nobody really knows how this all works out, who she's married to, which marriage stands, which one the courts'll honor," he explained. "She wants me to look through my books, wire some lawyers and judges I've gotten acquainted with over the years, see what I can find out."

Sully nodded. "Sounds like a good idea, Matthew."

He turned to face him. "Sully, I ain't an authority on this, never claimed to be, but with the small understanding of the law I've picked up... well, it seems logical that the first marriage, you and Dr. Mike, would be what the courts would turn to. I just think ya have a right to know legally, it looks likely you may still be married."

Sully took a swig from his canteen, wiping his mouth dry with the back of his hand. "And if we ain't?"

He sat back. "Well, you ...we-" He quieted, not sure how to answer.

"I s'pose in the end it's up to Dr. Mike, not the courts," Sully replied quietly. "She's gonna have to make a decision eventually."

Matthew nodded reluctantly, shifting on the bench. "I think I'm sitting on somethin'," he murmured, reaching behind his back and producing a pair of navy blue, tiny wool mittens. "Sully, these yours?" he teased softly.

Sully smiled for the first time all day, taking them from him and clutching the soft wool in his fingers. "He was here visitin' the other afternoon. Musta forgot 'em."

"I know how Dr. Mike is about mittens. She'll want Byron to have those back on his hands soon as you can get 'em to him," Matthew said. "Just a warnin'."

Sully stared down at the well-worn material, recollections of the precious hours he had spent the day before with his youngest son coming to mind. He grinned as he recalled the expression of astonishment mixed with delight on Byron's face as he watched his father flex his arm and throw the tomahawk at a thick oak tree in the woods. The little boy's thrill had only amplified as Sully sat him down in his lap and pointed out the different Indian markings on the handle of the weapon, explaining what each symbol meant and why he had carved it there. When it had come time for Brian to drive him back to the clinic, Byron had given Sully a tight hug around the neck, telling him he couldn't wait to see him and the tomahawk again. Sully missed him terribly already, and it had only been a day. He hadn't let himself dwell on the possibility that Michaela and the children's occasional, nearly haphazard visits to the homestead could become a permanent thing. The idea itself was heartbreaking. He just had to see them every day, or at least on a more predictable schedule. "I ain't sure when Michaela's gonna be able to bring the kids out here again," he said, "Unless I ... no, I wouldn't feel right about that, goin' there. No, it'll just have to wait until Byron comes here ... "

& & &

Sully knocked on the clinic door, Byron's mittens tucked under his arm. It was another excuse to see the children, he knew it, but he couldn't help it.

After a moment, Cal opened the door, eyebrows raised.

Equally taken aback, Sully shuffled his feet. "Uh, is Michaela here? I uh, I got the boy's mittens. He forgot 'em at the homestead and I figured..."

Cal coughed uncomfortably. "She had some house calls. Said she'd be back in a few hours."

"Oh," Sully murmured. "Well...are the kids here? I s'pose they'd be at school. Never mind."

Suddenly Byron grasped Cal's arm from behind and pushed his way in front of him. "Hey, Sull-wee," he said sweetly.

Sully instantly brightened. "Hey. Hey, Byron. How are ya?"

"Good," he replied simply. "Did ya come to play with me?"

Sully hesitated. "Well, I was just bringin' ya your mittens ... well, sure. I'll play with ya. What do ya wanna do?"

"Let's go for a walk," Byron said assertively. "You can show me more deers."

Sully bent to his level, caressing his soft, rosy cheek. "Sure I will." He glanced at Cal for approval. "I mean, if it's all right with-"

Cal nodded stiffly, nudging Byron forward. He convinced himself he was happy the little boy was getting to know his father-after all this is what Byron had always wished for-and he tried to tell himself it was for the best. "Go on, Squirt. Have fun."

Byron grasped Cal's hand. "You come, too, Cal!" he encouraged, beaming. "Sull-wee knows where's all the deers are and he will show us."

"I, uh-" Cal began tentatively.

Byron tugged on his hand. "Come on, please?" he begged. "We gonna have fun. Me, Sull-wee, and Cal. And we can tell Mama all about all the deers. Come on, Cal," he insisted.

"He wants us both to go," Sully spoke awkwardly. "S'pose we could. I ... I don't mind, if you don't."

Cal shook his head. "No. Long as that's what Byron wants."

"Yeah! Let's go!" Byron said impatiently.

"Let me just write Mama a note about where we are, little guy," Cal said. "Then we'll go."

& & &

"This one's a deer, too?" Byron asked, crouching to his knees and pointing at the mud with one finger.

Sully followed his gaze, bending down. "Naw, that one's a fox print."

"A fox!" Byron announced.

"How do you know?" Cal asked curiously, arms crossed.

"Well, it's got four toes and claws," Sully explained, "and the prints are in a straight line instead of side by side. That's how they run." He pointed at a group of smaller tracks beside it. "Look Byron. It was chasin' a rabbit."

The little boy gasped. "Ya think the fox catched it, Sull-wee?"

He shrugged. "Maybe. They can run pretty fast." He tousled his hair. "Just like you."

"Yeah, I am fast all right. I catched Brian, even," he replied proudly. He gave a tiny cough, then stood up and scrunched up his nose. "I can be a bunny fast, too!" he announced, giggling and hopping down the path.

Sully and Cal chuckled, watching the little boy fondly.

"He always this ... spirited?" Sully asked wryly.

Cal grinned. "Since the moment he was born. He sure screamed us up a storm."

Sully chuckled, then stopped short. "What do ya mean? You were ... you were there?"

Cal paused uncomfortably. "Well, I-she didn't tell ya?"

Sully shook his head, a lump in his throat. "She just said somethin' about how ya met before he came...a stagecoach accident. You were the driver ..."

Cal lowered his eyes. "Yeah. I ... I'm sorry. I thought ya knew. It was just me and her that survived."

"Ya pulled 'er out? Is that right?" Sully asked. "That's what they tell me. Saved her life."

Cal shrugged. "Wasn't really anything. We took shelter for the night in an abandoned cabin, and that was when Mike thought right then was as good a time as any to have that baby of hers."

Sully kicked at a fallen acorn with the toe of his boot. "... What was it like, when he came?"

"It was ..." Cal smiled whimsically. "The most amazing thing I've ever been a part of. I'll never forget it."

"... Yeah," Sully breathed, eyes filling with tears.

"Look, Sully, she needed you, not me," he told him, observing his upset guiltily.

"And I missed it." Sully sighed deeply. "I shoulda been there for her. I missed it."

Cal glanced around. "... Where &is& Byron?"

"He's right here-" Sully caught himself, glancing around. The child was nowhere to be seen. "Byron!" he called.

"Byron!" Cal echoed worriedly.

The two men jogged down the path, scanning the woods left and right and calling for the child.

Suddenly, Sully stopped short, raising his hand. "Shh. I heard somethin'."

Cal slowed to a stop, catching his breath and straining to hear.

"Cal!" a tiny voice shouted.

"Byron!" Cal called back. "Where are ya?"

"Cal!" Byron persisted, voice hoarse.

"I see 'im!" Sully shouted, tearing off the path and into the brush. There, collapsed on his knees in a pile of damp leaves, sat the little boy, panting, face flushed.

"Sull-wee ... I saw a weal wabbit an' I chased it ... an'-" He fought to draw in his breath, eyes tearing from the strain.

"Slow down, son. Ya got the wind knocked out of ya," Sully said, relieved he had found the boy.

Cal pushed his way in front of Sully, frantically taking Byron's arms.

"Cal," Byron whimpered tearfully. "I gots ... gots 'tack, Cal."

Cal took his hand anxiously and supported his back. "All right, Squirt. It's gonna be all right. Don't talk. Remember what Mama taught us? Let's get your arms in the air and take some short breaths."

Perplexed, Sully stepped back, not knowing how to respond.

"I n-...need my cor-form," Byron told him desperately.

Cal winced. "I don't got any with me, little guy. We didn't bring any. Shh, you're all right. Just breathe short."

"I...I-I want...M...Mama" Byron cried, his wheezing growing worse.

"Shh," Cal soothed, rubbing his back. "Look at me, Byron. Breathe in and out. We'll get through it. It won't last too long."

"Won't be too ... too long?" Byron replied.

"No, it'll be over soon," he assured him, trying to stay calm. "Short breaths. Good boy."

Sully finally worked up the courage to speak. "What's the matter with him?" he blurted.

Cal glanced up quickly. "You heard him. He's having an attack."

"What kinda attack? What do ya mean? Why's he doin' that?"

"Mike didn't tell ya?" Cal questioned, taken aback.

"Tell me what?" Sully demanded.

"He's got asthma," Cal explained. "He's had it for a year now. She musta told ya."

"Asthma?" Sully echoed hoarsely. The thought of his son being anything but perfectly healthy stunned him beyond comprehension.

"Cal. Cal!" Byron wheezed, tears clouding his vision. "I...can't..."

"He ain't gettin' better," Sully said frantically. "...Do somethin'. Help him!"

"It's a bad one," Cal murmured. "We gotta move him." He scooped the child into his arms. "You're gonna be fine, Byron. Don't cry. We'll take ya to Mama. I got ya. You're gonna be fine, little guy."

Byron clung to him fearfully, no longer able to speak, his chest heaving as Cal hurried out of brush and back onto the path. After a moment, he paused to turn around, seeing Sully frozen in place, staring fretfully at his son. "Ya gonna stay here?" he asked.

Sully took a shaky breath. "Yeah. I mean, no, I'm comin'. I'm comin'." He hurried to catch up to the two, heart beating fast.

& & &

Sully and Cal leapt to their feet as Michaela opened the clinic door. They searched her eyes anxiously, waiting for her to speak.

"He's fine," she told them.

Sully gave a sigh. "He's breathin' normal now?"

She nodded. "I had him inhale a mixture of stinging nettles and a little chloroform for several minutes, and it subsided. It was severe, but he's been through worse."

"Worse?" Sully echoed quietly, unable to imagine it.

"Mike, can I see him?" Cal said.

"Yes. He's been asking for you," Michaela replied softly, opening the door for him.

Cal rushed in, leaving Michaela and Sully alone on the porch, once again at a loss for words.

"Ya didn't tell me he has asthma," Sully at last spoke accusingly.

"I'm sorry," she replied, folding her hands. "...It just never came up."

"It just never came up," he retorted. "What else hasn't come up, Michaela?" He clenched his hands in fists. "Our child's sick, and I didn't even know. I had no idea what t' do. Do ya know how helpless I felt?"

"Cal was there," Michaela told him. "He knew what to do."

"I'm his father, Michaela!" Sully responded bitterly, pointing at his chest. "I don't even know my own son!"

She bit back tears. "He's not sick. We see a pediatrician in Denver, and he says Byron can have a perfectly normal life. It's possible he may even outgrow it."

"Ya shoulda told me," he responded, sinking into the bench. "You're keepin' things from me."

"You haven't exactly poured your heart out to me either," Michaela rejoined, provoked. "In fact you barely speak to me at all! What have you been doing for four years? What was this prison like? Did you have enough to eat and a warm place to sleep?" She grasped his hands, gazing at them compassionately. "Sully, your wrists. They're scarred. Why are they scarred? Did they make you wear chains? Didn't they ever take them off?" She looked him in the eyes, voice breaking. "Why couldn't you try to send word?"

He tore his hands from hers, avoiding her gaze. "Ya don't wanna know all that, Michaela," he said sternly.

"I do," she pleaded. "Just as much as you want to know what's been happening here."

He stood up, turning his back. "I don't have t' tell ya anythin'."

"Fine! Don't!" she responded, hurt. "I don't care!"

Jaw clenched, he stepped down from the porch.

"Walk away, Sully," Michaela told him. "Just like you always have!"

He turned briefly, eyes filled with hurt. "Ya know I'd stay by that boy's side an' hold him all night."

She hesitated, taken off guard.

"...But if ya wanted me here," Sully went on simply, "ya would of said somethin' by now."

to be continued...


	43. Chapter 56

Chapter Fifty-six

Cal folded his hands beneath his head, letting out a sigh. "Go on up to bed, Mike," he called softly, blinking up at the shadowy ceiling of the front room of the clinic. "It's late."

Michaela was seated at her desk, bathed in moonlight, eyes unfocused as she gazed out a window at the quiet street. She shook her head, trying in vain to focus her attention back on the medical textbook open in front of her.

Cal sat up on the cot. "What is it? Is it about Byron? I don't know what I was thinking, going out there without bringing his chloroform with us. It's all my fault."

"No, no one's to blame," Michaela replied. "We have no idea when these attacks will come. You did the right thing, bringing him back to town as quickly as you did."

"Then what?" he pressed. "What's wrong?"

She closed the book, fingering one of the corners absently. "...We quarreled. I said things I didn't mean."

He rose from the cot and made his way to her chair, resting his hand on her shoulder, wanting to be as helpful as he could. What Michaela needed right now was his support and understanding, no matter how difficult that was to provide. "Well, what about?" he asked.

Her shoulders fell. "I don't know. Everything. He's different, Cal. He's changed. He's angry with me."

"Michaela, he ain't angry at you," Cal said, voice hoarse.

"He was so upset I didn't tell him about Byron's asthma before," she persisted. "And perhaps he's right. Perhaps I should have. We've never been this way-so unable to communicate. I hurt him and he ... he hurt me, Cal."

He knelt to her level and took her hand tightly in his, feeling a sudden wave of desperation. "Mike, you know I'm here for you, and I love you, and I love your children."

She closed her eyes. "Cal-"

"Maybe I was angry, too, at first," he went on insistently. " But...but now...I-I know it's selfish but I just don't want to lose what we got, everything we've worked for. I love you and the kids so much." He caressed her arm warmly. "And I don't want ya hurt like this. It's been four years. You and Sully have led separate lives and you've both been through a lot. People can change during that time. I ain't tryin to deny how much ya loved each other ... but what we've built is special, too, ain't it?"

She swallowed tearfully. "He's their father. My first husband. That hasn't changed."

He tenderly stroked her hair. "Look, I've been thinking ... what if we stayed together? We have something, too, Michaela." He drew in his breath anxiously. "We could ... we could arrange something. He could visit the kids, on Saturdays, say. We could figure it out somehow."

She shook her head. "That would never work."

"We could make it work!" he insisted, frustrated. "Michaela, I'll do whatever it takes! Anything so that you're happy; I'd do anything to keep ya from being hurt!"

"I know Sully," she replied shakily. "He would never be content with only one day a week." For fear of hurting Cal, she didn't add that she herself couldn't begin to contemplate seeing Sully just once a week, especially after having been separated from him for so long.

"So he can visit two days a week. Three, even," Cal retorted. He stood up, pressing his hand to her desk. "Damn it, Michaela, I won't do this anymore! I can't stand by while you keep jumping from me to him like some-some... bigamist!"

Michaela stood up abruptly, silently circling around Cal and walking to the windowsill, her back to him.

"Michaela," Cal sighed, feeling terrible. "...Darlin', I'm sorry. I didn't mean it." He followed her to the window and stood quietly beside her. She pursed her lips, staring at her folded hands, tears stinging her eyes. "Oh, Mike, I'm sorry," Cal begged. "Don't do that. That was a real fool thing to say." He traced her chin with his finger. "Please, darlin'? I'm so sorry. I'm sorry, Mike. I-I don't mean to make things worse. Ya're already going through enough as it is."

She sniffled quietly. "...You frightened me, that's all."

"Why?" he questioned, swiping at her tears with his thumbs.

She inhaled shakily. "Because sometimes I think you're right."

"Shh," he admonished. "You put that out of your head right now. You're an amazing, beautiful, faithful woman, and don't you think anything less." He took her hands. "Sully would say the same thing, you know that. There's one thing we agree on."

Cal's words had inflicted the same pain he had just moments before promised to protect her from. He felt like a hypocrite for being angry at Sully for raising his voice to Michaela. Here he was doing the exact same thing. He kissed her cheek remorsefully. "Look, Mike, things get said when people are on edge. I didn't mean to say that and ... and I'm sure whatever Sully said he didn't want to hurt anybody either."

She sighed. "It's all right. I know you didn't mean it." She grasped the ledge of the window, closing her eyes. "It's I, I fear, who has hurt you. You and Sully both."

"Mike, what are you talking about? That's not true." Cal gathered her into his arms from behind. "...I think we both could use a good night's sleep. Go up to bed, now. Things'll be better in the morning."

She sighed, nodding, but dejectedly aware that Cal was wrong. Things would not be better. Things were only growing worse.

& & &

"Do you think I should have told him before?" Michaela asked quietly, hands folded as she watched Dorothy prepare the printing press for the latest addition of the Gazette.

"You said it never came up," Dorothy reminded her.

"No," she admitted. "But I suppose I could have told him ... I just didn't want to burden Sully with one more thing. He's so thrilled about having Byron-a son. I didn't want to spoil it."

Dorothy patted her hand. "You wanted to protect him. He must understand why you didn't want to say anythin'. It was just a surprise to him, finding out about the asthma the way he did. He can't stay upset for long."

"He is upset," Michaela said sorrowfully. "He says I keep things from him."

"Maybe he's more upset at himself," Dorothy suggested. "He's missed all of this. He hasn't been here for Byron's entire life, and he's strugglin' to catch up to it all. He's strugglin' to catch up with everybody. Imagine how frustratin' it must be."

"I suppose," Michaela sighed. "There's so much I want to tell him. I want him to feel as if he's always been here." She inhaled deeply. "I want him to understand that as happy as Cal has made me these past few years ... I never would have paused to glance at another man had I known he had survived. Perhaps Cal and I would have been friends but we never would have ... "

Dorothy paused in her work, taking her hand in support.

"And I want Cal to know," Michaela went on, voice quivering, "that I haven't forgotten all that we have, all that he's done for me." She gazed at her wedding ring. "But when I'm with Cal, I feel as if I'm betraying Sully. They try to hide it, but I see in their eyes how hurt they both are by all of this. I feel terrible. Cal even...he said I'm a...a-"

Dorothy sighed. "He's frustrated, too, Michaela. All of you are."

Tears sprang to her eyes. "I love them both. They're both a part of me, of my life, but in different ways. With Sully, I've always felt that we shared the same heart, that we're beating as one. When he disappeared-I can't explain the grief I felt."

"Something was missin' in you," Dorothy supplied knowingly.

She nodded. "And as much as I love Cal...Dorothy, I never could fill that empty place inside of me. I could push it aside, try to ignore it, but it was always there. Now that Sully's back, even though things have been tense between us ... it's as if my heart is finally able to beat again. But Cal ... how can I hurt him like that? I-I couldn't bear to lose him."

"Michaela, I know you love them both," Dorothy replied, "but the truth is the longer this goes on the more confused those children are going to be, and the more everybody is goin' to be hurt." She squeezed her hand. "The more you're hurtin' yourself. Ya gotta do somethin' about this, and soon."

"I do want it to end," Michaela whispered tearfully. "I want it to be over...but I don't know how I could ever hurt Cal like that. We've been through so much together. He's always been so supportive, so caring. Everyone was so kind to me after Sully's accident, but Cal ... he was the first person I felt truly understood what I couldn't express in words, he was the only man I felt safe with, the only person who could help me. Dorothy, he was my best friend ..."

& & &

Silently, Sully removed a rake from its hook and began aimlessly cleaning the barn floor, head bowed and eyes unfocused.

"Pa," Brian called once more, hands on his hips. "... Pa!"

Sully snapped his head up, startled. "Brian. I didn't see ya there."

"I was sayin' ya don't have to do that," he replied with a smile. "Rakin' the barn's my job."

Sully shrugged. "Ain't fair you havin' to do all the chores."

Brian led the cow out of her stall in preparation for milking. "I just don't think ya should feel like ya gotta do all these things. I want ya t' take it easy, what with...well, all ya musta went through in prison. Ya deserve a rest."

"That's real thoughtful of ya, Brian ... but I gotta keep myself busy somehow."

He hesitated. "You know ... you could ask Robert E. if he's got some work for ya. Things can go back to the way they were. Must be kinda lonely bein' at home all day." He placed a bucket of feed at the cow's head.

"Speakin' of that, Brian..." Sully began carefully, resting the rake against a stall. "I saw this advertisement in the Gazette. This construction company is startin' up, buildin' houses and hotels and things, and they're lookin' for men. I'm thinkin' about joinin'."

"Construction company? That's great," Brian told him enthusiastically. "You're real good with wood. That's somethin' Colorado Springs could really use I think. New buildings are goin' up all the time."

Sully shifted uncomfortably. "Actually, son ... it ain't gonna be in Colorado Springs. It's south of here...a little town called Silver Cliff?"

"What?!" Brian exclaimed. "Silver Cliff! That's so far! Why would ya wanna go all the way there?"

Sully sighed. "Brian...I gotta think further ahead than tomorrow. I gotta think about the future for me and you kids. Silver Cliff ain't as far as ya think. I could make it back in a day or so on horseback, or you could come there. I could still see all of ya real often."

Brian shook his head. "I don't understand. What about Ma? She's comin' back t' ya. She's just gotta get used to everything."

Sully swallowed hard. "Brian, she might not. I've seen 'em together. They're happy. All of ya, you're happy. All I've done is muddled things up. I...I don't belong anymore."

Brian stepped toward him and laid his hand on his father's arm. "Ya can't give up. Ya gotta promise you won't give up. B., you're what he's always wished for, and Katie...well, she's gonna come 'round real soon, I know it."

Sully shook his head once more. "I'm not gonna deny it any longer. I don't know Byron at all. Or Katie for that matter. We're strangers, always were."

Brian narrowed his eyebrows. "Well, what about me?" he demanded. "What about you and me?"

"I'd visit as much as I could," Sully said weakly.

"Ya just got here, and now you're gonna take off again!" he accused. "...Ma loves you, you know that," he said more softly. "She's just taken aback by this, that's all. We all need time. Ya gotta give her some more time, Pa. Promise ya will."

"I want her happy, more than anythin'," Sully said bravely. "I don't want to see her in any more pain, Brian. I can't do it. She's gotta decide what's gonna make her happy."

"Ya gotta give her a little longer to decide," Brian urged. "Don't go to Silver Cliff just yet...Promise?"

"Brian-" Sully hesitated for a moment, but could no longer argue with his son's pleading gaze. "...All right, I won't. Not yet."

& & &

Matthew took a deep breath and knocked on the clinic door. He dreaded this confrontation with his mother, but knew he couldn't put it off any longer. She had to know.

After a moment, the door opened, revealing Michaela in her apron, eyes bloodshot from several nights of sleeplessness. She eyed the stack of thick books and papers tucked under Matthew's arm.

"You found it?" she asked softly.

He nodded solemnly.

"What does it say?" she pressed.

"Can we go inside? Sit down?"

Nodding her consent, Michaela led him to her desk and they took seats across from each other.

"Katie and Byron here?" Matthew asked, glancing around.

"I just put them down for a nap," Michaela explained.

"...It's an obscure law," Matthew began. "I'd never come across it before."

"Thank you for taking the time to look, Matthew," she told him. "I really appreciate this. This is so much easier than wiring a lawyer I don't know and trying to explain everything to him."

He smiled softly. "Glad to help." He placed his books on her desk and took a deep breath. "To make things simple, I treated Sully as a soldier missin' in action, and went from there, lookin' for laws about soldiers missin' durin' the Civil War."

Michaela nodded in understanding.

"Since he was gone for about four years, at the time your marriage to Cal was perfectly legal," he went on.

She cleared her throat, struggling to prepare herself for what he was about to say. "Was?"

Matthew grasped her arm across the table. "Since Sully's alive, and you were married to him first, the marriage stands." He squeezed her arm. "Accordin' to my books, the law'll give ya up to thirty days after you first knew about Sully to annul your marriage to Cal."

"We have to have an annulment?" Michaela uttered, stunned. An annulment, as far as she knew, meant the marriage had never been legitimate. She shuddered at the thought. Her relationship with Cal had certainly been genuine to her. To have the law say it never existed bewildered her. It didn't seem right, a simple piece of paper possessing the power to cast off years of amorous friendship eventually leading to many months of loving, deeply fulfilling matrimony.

"Dr. Mike, if ya don't do this, ya could be jailed," Matthew went on.

"Jailed?" she repeated tearfully.

He squeezed her arm. "I'm sorry." He paused. "Unless ya..."

"Unless I what?" Michaela questioned.

He lowered his eyes. "Well, unless ya divorce Sully..."

"Those are my choices?" Michaela replied in disbelief. "Annul my marriage to Cal or divorce Sully? Within thirty days?"

He hesitated. "It's been two weeks since Sully's been back...so ya got about fourteen days now...I'm sorry," he said again. "I can help ya with the legal things if ya want. I don't have the power to give out anything like an annulment, but I could speak for ya, and help keep things real quiet. I could talk to Jake. He could do it for us real quiet."

Michaela shook her head. "I don't believe this. Fourteen days. I can't."

"Ya gotta, Dr. Mike," Matthew told her. "Everybody's been dragged through this long enough, especially those kids. It's gotta end."

"No, I know, but..." she whimpered.

He took her hand. "This is all real sudden. Why don't ya take some time to think about it?"

She took a shaky breath. "You're right. I need some time to think."

He rose from his chair and circled the desk to stand beside her. "You want me to stay with ya for the afternoon? Keep ya company?"

"Thank you, Matthew, but if you wouldn't mind I think I'd like to be alone," she told him.

"Sure," he murmured, resting his hand on her shoulder. "...It's gonna be all right, Ma," he whispered. He kissed her cheek comfortingly. "It's all gonna work out."

She grasped his hand and pressed it to her cheek. "Thank you. Everyone's been so kind and supportive."

He patted her shoulder. "If ya need me I'll be over at the church. Told the reverend if I had the chance I'd help him unpack a new shipment of hymnals."

She nodded, mustering a smile as he put on his hat and left.

& & &

Michaela warmed her hands over the fireplace, staring into the flames. She didn't notice the steady pitter-patter of rain on the roof or the occasional low rumble of thunder. Nor did she realize she had soaked her clothes through riding out to the abandoned cabin, and now sat shivering, her feet wet and her hair damp. Her thoughts remained focused on Cal and Sully, and on finding a solution to the unbelievable situation they were all trapped in.

She had loved Sully since the moment their eyes first met. It was as if two parts of one spirit had finally come together. He had believed in her as a doctor when no one else would, and had always been by her side, through the best and worst of times, supporting her, offering quiet, unassuming advice, and loving her. He had been a wonderful father to Matthew, Colleen, and Brian, and given her the little girl and boy they had always dreamed of. Without warning, he was taken from her, and Michaela remembered feeling as if her heart had been torn in two. Nothing had compared to that devastation since.

Then Cal had come into her life, only by chance. He had forced her to function again, despite her protests. He had helped her to see all that she had, despite Sully's disappearance. Falling in love with Cal had happened over a long period of time, and time was exactly what Michaela had required. No one had been as patient with her as she grieved, yet so dedicated to seeing her happy and smiling. Cal was the only father Katie and Byron knew, he was exactly what they needed, and he was wonderful with them. They had built a new family together, and had only just decided they were ready for that family to grow.

She owed Cal her life. How could she ever...

Michaela shook her head, hugging her legs. Tears once again slipped down her cheeks. There was no way she could see to spare everyone from being hurt. There was no easy answer.

& & &

Cal searched for his spare key to the clinic, tucked deep in the inside pocket of his vest. He unlocked the door, calling for Michaela once more. No answer. He could have sworn she had said she didn't have any late appointments today, and would meet him for supper, along with the children. Maybe she had already gone ahead, and was waiting for him in the café. Deciding that had to be the case, he made his way over to Grace's.

"Katie?" he murmured, surprised. "Byron?" He hurried over to the little girl and boy, seated on a table in Grace's cooking area, seeking shelter from the steady drizzle of rain.

"Here, have one of my cookies," Grace said softly, offering the children a platter of frosted ginger snaps as they rubbed their eyes with their fists.

Byron shook his head, unwilling to be appeased. "When's my mama comin' t' get me, Miz Gwace?"

"Soon, pumpkin," Grace assured him.

"How soon's that?" Katie pressed.

"Cal!" Byron cried, looking up.

Cal rested his hands on the child's knees. "What're ya kids doing here?" He reached to caress Katie's tear-streaked cheek. "What is it, Princess?"

"Cal, M-mama forgot us," Katie told him.

"She j-just forgotted all 'bout us," Byron added, sniffling. "She gonna pick us up and never ever come."

"Oh, shh, it's all right," Cal soothed. "Something's keeping her I'm sure." He glanced at Grace.

"She was in a real hurry, Cal," she said, placing the platter of cookies on the table. "She brought 'em over a little before lunch time. Said she'd only be a few hours." She lowered her voice. "That was near six hours ago."

"Six hours?" Cal echoed. Fear instantly gripped him. Michaela would never willingly leave her children for so long with no explanation. Something wasn't right. "She say where she was headed, Grace?"

Grace wrinkled her brow. "Somethin' about a cabin ... your 'place'? Don't know what she meant by it, but she was off before I could ask."

"Our place?" Cal repeated. "Grace ... I'm really sorry about this. I gotta go after her. I'm sorry. Could you-?"

Grace put her arm around Katie. "Go on. Don't worry about things here."

"Where'd Mama go to, Cal?" Katie pressed, grasping his shirt.

He caressed her head. "It's all right. I'm gonna bring her home."

"But ya're gonna get all wet!" Katie informed him.

Byron rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. "Did Mama get lost like Sull-wee did, Cal? Lost in pwison for a real long time?"

Cal cleared his throat, resting his hand on the boy's shoulder. "Oh, no. No, Mama's fine. No more tears now. I'll bring her home. I won't get wet. I got my hat. Can ya be a good boy and stay here with Miz Grace?"

"I'm goin' with you!" Katie put in passionately.

"Me, too!" Byron added. "I go find Mama!"

Cal bit his lip, glancing at Grace. "Should I maybe ask Sully to come look after 'em? I don't know how long I'm gonna be."

"No!" Katie instantly said.

"We want &you&, Cal!" Byron insisted. Sully was nice to talk to, play with, look for animals in the woods with...but Cal...Cal was who he had always felt safe with, and, aside from his mother, Byron wasn't content with anyone else.

Cal hesitated, bit his lip, and finally took each of their hands. "All right, you stay here with Miz Grace 'til we get back, hm? I won't be long I hope." He kissed their heads, gave Grace's shoulder an appreciative squeeze, and hurried out of the café.

to be continued...


	44. Chapter 57

Chapter Fifty-seven

Cal led his horse off the main road and shielded his eyes from the rain as he peered into the woods. There stood Flash, head bent as she took shelter under a tree. Smoke meandered its way up from the chimney of the cabin. He breathed a sigh of relief. Michaela was there, just as he had suspected. He gave his horse a swift kick, urging him down the muddy bank to the cabin. He dismounted and hastily tied him beside Flash and then rushed to the door.

"Michaela?" he called, pushing it open.

"...Sully!" she called back, weakly.

Cal's heart sunk. He searched the small room, his eyes finally falling on Michaela, slumped beside the cot, clutching her belly.

"Mike!" he breathed. Instantly he was at her side, wrapping one arm around her back and taking her hand. "What is it?" he urged. "What's the matter? I'm here. It's Cal. What're you doing here?"

She struggled to focus on his face, disoriented.

He felt her brow, finding it cool. "It's me. It's Cal. What, darlin'? Why ya sitting here like this?"

She squinted her eyes. "My head...I can't..."

He smoothed her hair from her eyes. "Ya got a headache?" He patted her cheek. "Mike? Come on. Tell me what's hurting."

"My head," she murmured, closing her eyes. "...My stomach. Everywhere."

He struggled to remain calm and in control. "All right, darlin'. That sounds like a catarrh, right? Let's get ya in bed." He lifted her into his arms and onto the cot, unlaced her shoes, slipping them off, and then tucked several blankets around her.

"I'm cold," she muttered.

He kissed her damp brow. "I'll build up the fire. You stay put."

Quickly, he added several logs to the fire, stirring them with the poker, and returning to Michaela's side less than a minute later. "All right ... I got the fire going good," he assured her. "Ya feeling any better? Mike?"

She slowly opened her eyes. "Cal."

"Yeah," he whispered, "I'm here. What's the matter with ya? Seems like the grippe?"

She narrowed her eyebrows. "Yes ... but I don't see how ... how I could have been exposed. It came so suddenly...My stomach, I was so suddenly ill until I couldn't anymore, there was nothing left...I'm so cold, Cal."

Worriedly, he threaded his fingers with hers. "All right. You're gonna be fine. Just relax."

"Good," she muttered, closing her eyes.

He took her chin in his hand, keeping her head straight. "Michaela? You just keep looking at me. Keep looking at me, darlin'. That's it. You're gonna be fine."

& & &

Sully hurried into the relatively empty café, spotting Grace with Katie and Byron in her lap, singing to them.

"Grace!" he called. "Robert E. said the kids've been here all day..."

Katie met her father's concerned eyes and at once burst into tears.

Sully slowed his steps, instantly feeling terrible.

"Sull-wee, Mama got lost," Byron whimpered, hugging Grace's shawl in his hands.

"They'll be comin' home soon," Grace said. "I'm sure everything's fine, Sully."

He sighed, hesitant to approach the children any farther. "You're sure?"

Grace nodded. "Cal says he knows where she is."

Sully fought the urge to go after Michaela himself, even though he had no idea where to begin. He kicked at the dirt, willing himself to be patient and trust that everything would be fine, like Grace had said. He looked up. "I'll take the kids off your hands-"

"No!" Katie screeched. She buried her head against Grace's shoulder while she patted her back soothingly.

Byron glanced at his sister. If she was upset, then so was he. He followed her lead. "No!" he shouted.

Sully couldn't help but step closer. "Kates, it's all right. Please. Byron, it's me..."

The two cried harder, Grace rocking them helplessly. Clearly, having their father around was not any comfort, as she hoped it might be. "Sully..." she murmured. "I can look after 'em for a little longer. I don't mind. Go on home." She glanced at the livery. "When they get back, I'll send Robert E. over to tell ya."

All Sully wanted to do was hold Katie and Byron and assure them their mama was fine, but his own children didn't want to see him. His own children whimpered and cried when he came near. "...All right," he managed to choke.

They didn't want him. His own children wanted Michaela and Cal.

& & &

A lump in his throat, Cal stroked Michaela's hair as she lay balled up on her side, moaning quietly.

"Should we try to go back to town?" he asked again, very softly.

"Cal," she replied.

"Shh, I know. Can ya try and sit up? I'll help ya." He laid his hands on her shoulders.

"Don't," she murmured weakly, pushing at his arms. "Don't. I'm hot."

Instantly, he removed his hands. "You're hot now? I thought you were cold, Mike. Do you want some water?"

"...I can't lose you," she whispered, eyes closed. "Can't lose you again. Sully, please."

"Mike, you're not making sense," he told her, biting his lip. "We gotta get some help. Come on. I could get ya onto my horse..." When she made no reply, he gently smoothed her hair behind her ears. "We could try some water. Or tea? You might feel better then. I'll help ya sit up and drink."

"I can't lose you," she went on. "I love you so much."

Cal pressed her hand to his cheek. "I love you, too, darlin'."

"...I don't want to hurt him," she replied. "I can't bear to hurt him.."

"Hurt who?" he asked desperately, swallowing hard. "You're scaring me, darlin'. Stop this." He pulled his pocket watch from his trousers, opening it. It had been about two hours since he had first discovered Michaela alone in the cabin. She had only grown worse since he had found her. He rubbed his eyes. He'd seemed to have developed a headache of his own, mild though persistent. He shook it off, squeezing his wife's hand. "You're doing good, Mike," he encouraged. "We're gonna get ya through this, hm? Whatever this is..." He ran his fingers over the watch face. "Ya got this for me, remember? I'm glad I stayed in Colorado Springs that Christmas." He kissed her hand. "Real glad." He rubbed his temples, cringing as a wave of pain engulfed him. He focused once more on Michaela, willing himself to keep her conscious. "Mike?" he called. "You stay with me. Don't you do this." Disconcerted, he gave her cheek a firm pat. "Mike, please, what's the matter with ya? You can't do this, do you hear? Ya can't!"

She squinted at him, befuddled. "I'm cold," she murmured at last.

"Good girl. You stay with me," he encouraged. "I'll add another log to the fire, how's that sound? You stay right there, darlin'. Keep talking to me." He quickly rose, instantly feeling lightheaded. He grasped the table to steady himself, shaking off the spell, and made his way to the fireplace, squatting and selecting several thick logs from the nearby pile of firewood.

"Byron and Katie, they got worried about ya when ya didn't come to pick them up," he said, placing a log on the already roaring fire.

"...Byron," Michaela echoed.

Cal glanced over his shoulder. "That's right. That little guy was real worried about his mama. The two of them even wanted to come with me. We'll be going home soon, and be showing them you're just fine." He clenched his teeth, fighting the relentless pain in his head. "How's this?" he called. "Warm enough? Should I build it up some more? It's awful stuffy in here, don't ya think? I'd open the door but it's raining-" He paused, his breath catching as he stared into the blazing flames. He glanced around the cabin. It was abandoned, neglected, and stifling, with only one tiny window and a door that persistently jammed. In short, there was little chance for fresh air to enter ... or contaminated air to escape. Michaela had a powerful headache and was hanging on to consciousness, and now he was feeling ill as well.

"Oh, my God," he murmured. He dropped the log he was about to add to the fire and hurried to the table, where he had placed a basin with cool water to bathe Michaela's face with. He picked it up and dumped it on the flames, causing them to weaken slightly, though quickly, they regained their vigor. Panicking, he gave up putting out the fire and ran to Michaela's side. "Come on, darlin'. Let's get out of here." He searched her face. She had finally fallen unconscious, her body limp and her eyes rolled back. "Mike! Oh, God," he murmured. "Mike." He gathered her into his arms, blankets and all, and staggered toward the door. "We're gonna get you outside, and you're gonna breathe good fresh air, and we're gonna be fine, you hear?" He kissed her head lovingly. "Don't you give up. Promise me, Michaela. Promise me."

& & &

Sully drew his arm back, flexed, and shot his tomahawk square into an oak tree some twenty feet away, striking it with a satisfying shattering of the bark. He treaded over to it, yanked it out, and returned to his position, raising his arm once more.

"You have hit that same spot nine times," a voice remarked from behind him. "How long will you play this game before you're tired of it?"

Sully turned swiftly, bursting into a smile. "Cloud Dancin'." He placed his tomahawk in his belt and stepped forward to embrace his brother. "You're off the Reservation," he remarked.

"I have a day pass to town, but the Spirits told me you would be here," Cloud Dancing replied simply.

Sully gave a sigh. "I don't know what to do, Cloud Dancin'," he said. "I feel ... lost."

"Michaela still needs time," he replied.

"I know, but it ain't just her. It's everything." He strolled a few paces forward, staring up at the tall trees, shading the sunlight. The woods had always been a haven for him. He could come there and put aside everything that had happened outside of them. This time, however, nothing could make him forget the matters at hand. "Especially the kids," he went on. "Katie, she can't stand the sight of me. Byron's got asthma and I didn't even know. Sometimes, I think I don't want to know. I don't belong. I love 'em all, I want to be with 'em all the time, but I don't know how much longer I can put them through this. Maybe I just ... I should just up and leave. Everybody would be a lot better off if I had never showed up." He shook his head. "I just don't know what to do."

Cloud Dancing was silent a moment, then spoke. "We'll build a sweat lodge."

"A sweat lodge?" Sully murmured.

"Yes. Then you will go on a vision quest. You will ask the Spirits for guidance. When you've heard them, you will return."

& & &

Michaela slowly became conscious of Cal's arm around her waist, his other hand rubbing her belly, her back resting against his chest. She struggled to open her eyes, emitting a soft groan. It was raining, but they were reasonably dry, having found shelter under a tree. Her head still ached, her stomach was uncomfortably queasy, but she could feel her strength returning with each breath she took.

"Welcome back, darlin'," Cal spoke soothingly.

Tears of relief sprang to her eyes. "Cal," she murmured hoarsely.

His hold about her waist tightened. "I'm right here."

"I could feel it," she told him, breath coming quick. "I could feel myself slipping..." She grasped his hand, his fingers warm and comforting. Suddenly, she burst into tears as realization hit hard.

"Shh," Cal soothed. "You're gonna be just fine. Thank God." He rubbed her back reassuringly as she continued to weep. "Mike, you're fine." He kissed her head. "You're fine now. I'm right here."

She took a deep breath, struggling to regain control. "I was so frightened," she murmured.

Cal squeezed her hand. "I know, darlin'. I was, too."

She squinted through the rain at the cabin. "What...what happened?"

"Can't believe I didn't realize it right off," he began shakily. "Chimney's all backed up. Ya only have to look at it to tell. It hasn't been cleaned out since whoever lived here left. Probably got even worse with last night's windstorm."

"...Carbon monoxide," Michaela whispered.

"That what it's called?" he asked. "When ya built up a fire, it filled the cabin with bad air. Ya breathed it in."

"I should have suspected when I started to feel ill so suddenly," Michaela went on. "Fatigue, nausea, a severe headache."

"I started to feel the same," he said. "I couldn't think what it could be. But how often has Byron wanted to help me on the roof with cleaning out our chimney? Ya called his name and all of a sudden I put two and two together."

"I did? I don't remember that."

He cleared his throat. "Ya said a lot of things. I didn't know what you were talking about half the time. I...I was scared, Mike. Then when I couldn't keep ya awake any longer..." He held her tightly. "I almost lost ya. I can't believe I almost lost ya." He pressed his lips to her cheek, eyes filling with tears.

"I'm so glad you came," she replied shakily.

"What are you doing out here?" he asked softly. "What possessed ya to come all this way in this rain, all by yourself?"

She sniffled. "I was thinking. I needed to think."

"Oh. Did you...did you come to anything?" he asked reluctantly.

She grasped his hand. "Oh, Cal. I asked Matthew if he could help me with what the law says about this. He came this morning to tell me his findings."

"And?" he pressed.

She took a deep breath. "We have to annul our marriage, and if we don't ... then I must divorce Sully, within the next fifteen days. I couldn't believe it. I knew it would come to this eventually but-I had to get away. I'm so sorry."

He closed his eyes. "Fifteen days?"

She shook her head. "All I've done is hurt you. Both of you."

"No, Mike," Cal protested.

"I have," she insisted. "I see it in your eyes. Sometimes I wonder if it would be better if...if I hadn't survived that stagecoach accident. We never would have met. I would never have put everyone through such pain."

"Michaela!" he uttered. "Don't talk like that! Ya can't think that!" He took her cheeks in his hands. "Meeting you and those kids was the best thing that ever happened to me. I don't regret one second of our time together. Darlin', whatever happens, I'm never gonna regret falling in love with you." He tickled her chin. "Not that I could even control that."

She smiled faintly. "You really don't regret it, after everything?"

"Never. I've loved ya since I first saw that smile, and I haven't stopped since," he affirmed.

"I love you, too," she whispered. "But...I've been thinking perhaps I should just leave here. I could t-take the children and go to Boston," she said desperately, lip trembling. "I've wired Mother and she's been very understanding. She wants to help-"

"Boston?" Cal interjected, stunned. "What do ya mean? You're talking foolish!"

"It's not foolish," she insisted. "I can't put them through this any longer. I don't know how to help them, especially Katie. She's not adjusting to him, as much as I've tried. It's agony for her when I bring her to visit him. We could just quietly leave. I could take them away from all of this."

"Mike, ya can't go dragging them to Boston," he retorted. "That's crazy! What's that gonna do to them? I won't let ya do that to them. To yourself! Everything ya got is here!"

"Everything I have is falling apart!" she replied passionately. She took his hands. "Cal, I can't imagine my life either if I hadn't met you, but..." She shook her head, unable to finish.

Bravely, he squeezed her hands. "... But ya can't turn your back on your children's father, on the life ya had before, either."

She nodded painfully, staring at her hands, grateful she didn't have to finish the thought herself.

"Look, first thing we need to do is get you home and in a warm bed," Cal said quietly, eyes lowered. "Can ya sit up in the saddle?"

"I think so," she replied, feeling as if their conversation had been cut short. There was still so much more she wanted to tell him.

& & &

"Arms up," Cal said as he slipped Katie's shift off over her head.

"And it's building a nest up there and there's gonna be eggs in there soon, Mama said," Katie went on enthusiastically, bouncing weakly on the bed as Cal shook open her folded nightgown and helped her thread her arms through the sleeves.

"Is that right?" he said, buttoning her up. "Right up there on your mama's sign?"

"Yep, right there, and there's gonna be baby birds!" she said.

He tickled her chest. "Baby birds, huh?"

She giggled, pushing his hands away. "Stop! Cal!"

"Stop, stop!" he teased, tickling her faster and growling good-naturedly.

Katie fell back on the bed, out of breath, tears of laughter springing to her eyes. "Stop!" she squealed, curling up.

Cal grinned, scooping her into his arms and pulling back the sheets of the recovery bed. "Under the covers with ya now. Your mama should come up in a minute with Byron from his bath, and I'll tell the two of ya a story. Then I gotta get some shut-eye myself!"

Katie gazed up at him questioningly for a long moment, at last drawing in her breath determinedly. "Cal, how come ya don't sleep up here with Mama anymore?" she asked plainly.

Surprised, he knelt beside her, crossing his arms and leaning on the bed. "Well ... a lot's happened, and I think Mama needs some time to be by herself so she can think things out."

She frowned. "I liked things before. Before him had to come. I hate him."

"Oh, Katie," he murmured, disconcerted. He leaned closer, reaching up to stroke back her hair. "Katie, you know it'd be all right with me if ya give your pa a chance," he told her, swallowing hard. "Ya don't have to say ya hate him just 'cause of me."

"Cal, no, I'm not just saying!" she insisted. "I really do! I wish he's never ever come here! I want him to go back to N'mex-co and go back to prison!"

He kissed her brow, feeling terrible. This was never what he had intended, for the child to detest the very idea of her real father. Ever since he had first known she and Byron he had felt terrible about the two losing Sully, for that matter never even remembering him. Now when Katie finally had the opportunity to know her pa, she was rejecting him with all her might.

As much as Cal knew he stood to lose everything, Katie included, he couldn't just not say anything to her. He wanted to help, somehow. "I know you're upset about this and ya got a right to be, Katie," he began. "Your pa's a stranger to ya, ain't he? But he's still your pa. I understand there ain't a lot I can say to help ya see that. Maybe there's nothing I can say."

Katie sniffled, her eyes darkening with sadness.

"But even if he is a stranger I want ya to give him a chance," he implored. "I know it's hard for ya but ya gotta remember your mama's having a hard time, too. And your pa. They're trying to do right by ya. It hurts them to see ya like this. It hurts Mama when ya don't give Sully a chance."

Katie's lip trembled at the thought of being responsible for inflicting more heartache on her mother. "But... but I want you, Cal," she pleaded.

"Katie, he's your pa-" he went on.

"How's he is my pa?" she demanded. "I never see him ever before! He never come to my birthday party, didn't he? He never taked me fishin' and never teached me to make snow angels and never played dress-up with me! He never even t-told me ... a s-story!" She let out her breath shakily, bursting into quiet sobs.

Cal immediately took her in his arms, caressing her head. "Shh, Katie. Oh, I know you're mad. That's all right. You're right, ya don't know Sully at all, but that's why Mama likes to take ya to see him and spend time with him, so ya will know him. Then he won't seem like a stranger no more. Ya'll grow to love him, you'll see." He closed his eyes, holding back his own tears. "Shh, Katie. It's all right."

"No. I want you, Papa," she repeated heartbreakingly. "I love &you&."

He rocked her back and forth, not knowing what else to do. " ... I love you, Princess," he finally whispered, squeezing her tighter and kissing her head consolingly.

to be continued...


	45. Chapter 58

Chapter Fifty-eight

Sully rested damp, trembling hands on his crossed legs. His entire body shuddered with each breath of sharp, chilly night air he inhaled, though he had quickly forgotten about the cold. For nearly six hours now he had been alone in the open field, only at the mere beginning of a vision quest that might stretch as long as two or three days and nights, maybe more. No matter how long it took, he wouldn't leave until he had an answer.

He raised his head to look up at the rising moon, turning his thoughts to Michaela. He had often watched the moon at night from behind the bars of the prison, taking a small comfort in knowing his wife and children were resting under that same sky, perhaps even looking up at it themselves and thinking of him. He wondered if Michaela's eyes were on that moon tonight, as desperate for an answer as he was.

& & &

"Mama," Byron called. He shook his mother's shoulder. "Mama!"

Michaela roused, blinking sleep from her eyes. "Brynie?"

"Mama, I can't stop coughin," he whispered, cheeks flushed. "I can't fall seep."

She reached out and rubbed the little boy's chest. "We'll go downstairs and make you some tea."

"No. No tea. Yucky," he insisted. "Milk."

She gave him a half smile and swung her legs out of bed. "All right, milk it is." She picked him up as he gave a dry cough. These episodes had become routine. Occasionally, they developed into an attack, but if caught in time they were often able to calm the little boy's system back to normal. Kissing his head, she opened the door and shut it behind her, then padded down the stairs and opened the door to the front room. "Shh, let's be very quiet," she whispered, glancing at the cot in the corner where Cal lay, facing the wall.

"Cal's seeping?" Byron asked, wrapping his legs around his mother's waist.

"Yes. He had a very long day," Michaela affirmed.

"He found ya, Mama," Byron informed her. "You hidin' in the woods."

Michaela smiled. "He did. I'm so grateful."

"And he told me a story, too. Told it to me and Katie," the child went on. "My fav-rite. Winken and Blinken and the shoe."

"Don't you ever tire of that?" Michaela teased.

"No, I stay awake," he replied.

She chuckled as she set a pan on the small clinic stove and filled it with milk from a pitcher in the icebox. She placed Byron on his feet to add another log to the fire, and immediately the little boy let out an anxious moan.

"Up! Up!" he pleaded, grasping his mother's nightgown and pulling. "Mama! Mama, up!"

Michaela immediately lifted him back into her arms, hugging him soothingly. "Oh, what, darling? I'm here. Shh."

"Mama, I don't want ya t' get lost again, all wight?" Byron told her, gasping for breath.

"I'm sorry," Michaela murmured tearfully. "I never should have left you. You're so important to me, do you understand? I love you so very much."

He nodded slowly. "I've been thinkin'."

"What have you been thinking?" She strolled to the window, holding him tight.

He sighed, resting his head against her shoulder. "I think Cal tells the best stories, an' he is the nicest, and I guess I pick him. He's gonna be my papa. So ya gotta tell Sull-wee it's time to go, all wight? He is nice and has a nice tom-hawk but he can go home now. I pick Cal for the papa, all wight?"

Michaela swallowed hard, staring up at the moon. How often she had found herself under that same sky, wishing, hoping, and praying Sully could somehow have survived. "Sweetheart..." She trailed off. "Sweetheart, it's not exactly something we can decide. Your daddy is your daddy, and nothing can change that."

"But how come?" he persisted.

"Byron, we've talked about this. Mama and your papa, Sully, we wanted you with all our hearts, and finally you were in my tummy. And then soon after that Papa had his accident and was lost from us. I was so happy when you were born, but so sad that Papa couldn't be there to share that happiness with me."

Michaela drew in her breath. She realized now she had never fully accepted that Sully was gone forever. She had allowed the reverend to hold a memorial service not because she wanted to, but because everyone else had wanted her to. She had gone through with it for the children's sake and to appease the townsfolk, but it hadn't helped her in her grief at all, as it should have. If anything, it had made her feel worse.

She had felt Sully presence throughout his entire absence, but had misinterpreted all the dreams, the sensations, the heartache that time would not cure, as coming from afar, perhaps even heaven-sent. It had even driven her to believe if she were to take her own life, she would be able to join with Sully again. In actuality, she saw that all that she had experienced throughout the four years had meant he was indeed alive, safe, trying to come back.

Byron shook his head, puzzled. "But can't ya just say to Sull-wee time to go home?"

Michaela bit back tears. "Colorado Springs &is& his home. I know you don't understand. I wish I could help you understand."

"Cal says nobody gots two papas, and Brian says Cal's gotta go away and Sull-wee will be the papa. I don't want Cal t' go away," he whimpered. "I don't want him to." He drew in his breath shakily, hugging her neck tightly. "Mama, Cal &can't& go away. Who's gonna tell me Winken and Blinken then?"

"Shh," she soothed, rocking him slowly. "Shh, darling." She smoothed back his hair, watching with sympathy as his eyes welled with tears. She recalled the day of her wedding to Cal, and that riveting panic she had felt, the hesitation that gripped her throat as she choked out the vows. It all made perfect sense now. As she looked at her son, his father in his eyes and in all that he was, she knew she couldn't turn her back on that. She had known that the moment Sully first came back into her life. She let her gaze fall on Cal, still motionless on the cot, as tears of trepidation slipped down her cheeks. She hugged Byron tighter, not knowing how she could ever begin to tell Cal what she knew she had to do.

& & &

Michaela made certain Byron was sound asleep before she planted a gentle kiss to his brow, carefully leaned over him and kissed Katie, then tiptoed across their room to the doorway.

Just as she was closing their door, leaving it open a crack should they call, she felt Cal's hand come around her waist, and started with surprise.

"Byron all right?" he whispered in the moonlight.

"Cal, we woke you. I'm sorry." She turned to face him.

"No, it's fine," he assured her. He didn't tell her that he had never actually fallen asleep, and had overheard their entire conversation, had overheard Byron's tears.

"He's better," she said. "I gave him a little warm milk and the wheezing eased."

"Good." He caressed her cheek warmly, swallowing hard.

Perplexed by his expression, Michaela stepped closer to him. "What is it? He's just fine now. Truly."

He nodded quickly, trying to hide his upset. "I know." He wrapped his arms around her and held her to him for several moments. Michaela was surprised, but didn't pull away. "I...I just wanna feel ya in my arms," he whispered timidly.

Michaela willingly obliged, sensing there was something he wanted to say, yet not wanting to press him further. "Shh," she whispered, resting her head against his chest. " It's been quite a day, hasn't it?"

"It sure has," he murmured, holding her tighter and relishing the moment.

& & &

Katie slowly opened her eyes, squinting as the early morning sun lightened the room. Instantly, she burst into a smile. Cal was sitting on the bed beside her, stroking her hair.

"Ya weren't supposed to wake," he whispered.

"Is it time to get up?" she asked.

"No, not yet. Go back to sleep, Princess."

Byron rolled over in bed, instantly rousing. "What're ya doing, Cal?"

"Shh," he murmured. "Just...just wanted to see ya, that's all."

"Can ya make us pancakes for bweakfast?" the little boy asked.

"Blueberry ones?" Katie added.

Cal bit back tears. "Not today. Ask your mama. She will I bet."

"She's no good at them," Byron informed him. "We want you."

Cal took their hands. "Kids, listen, I got something real important to tell ya."

"What?" Byron pressed.

He took a deep breath. "Ya gotta promise to do something for me, hm? Ya gotta promise to be real good, and be good for your ma, and ... be good for Sully, too. Ya gotta try."

"Why do I gotta be good for &him&?" Katie demanded.

"We talked about this Katie. 'Cause he's your pa," Cal told her softly. "He loves ya. Both of ya. It's gonna take some time, but you'll love him, too. Everything's gonna be all right."

"I don't like this," Katie murmured tearfully.

Cal swallowed hard. "It's tough, I know, but ya gotta put on your bravest faces and try. Just try, that's all. Promise?" He squeezed their hands. "Ya promise?"

"...I pwomise," Byron said softly.

Katie hesitated. "All right," she said quickly.

Cal nodded, his heart aching. "Good. Good." He struggled to keep his lip from trembling. "I ever tell you kids that you, this family...it's been the best thing that's ever happened to me?" He caressed each of their heads. "At first, I thought it mattered that ya aren't my own but then ... well, love started to matter more."

"Why you talking funny, Cal?" Katie questioned worriedly.

He bit his lip. "I...I just want you to know how much I care about ya. Always have." He held out his arms. "Can ya give me a hug?"

"Yeah. I like hugs," Byron remarked.

The children sat up simultaneously, embracing Cal firmly while he fought to keep control.

"I love ya both so much. Never forget that," Cal whispered. "You be good." He kissed each of their heads, shutting his eyes. "Go back to sleep now," he said quickly, avoiding their questioning gazes as he stood up. "Close your eyes. Don't go waking your mama just yet."

& & &

Pen in hand, Cal stared blinking at a blank sheet of paper from Michaela's notepad. He wanted to tell her why he was leaving, that it wasn't her fault, and that he didn't want her worrying about him. Then, he wanted to let her know how happy she had made him the past several years, but that she needed to put it behind her and try to rebuild a life for she and the children with Sully. If nothing else, she had to do it out of love for the children.

He didn't know how to begin, or how to put all his thoughts on such a small paper. Boldly, he dipped the pen in the inkwell and wrote Michaela's name. He found himself unable to continue, completely at a loss for words.

"Cal?" The door to the stairs creaked open, and Michaela appeared in her slippers and bathrobe, hugging her chest. "I saw a light."

He turned swiftly, feeling cornered. "Mike," he whispered. "Go back to bed, darlin'."

She stepped toward him. "What are you doing awake and dressed so early?" She paused, eyeing the carpetbag at his feet, and slowly met his guilty eyes. Fear gripped her. "What's ... what's in your bag?"

He sighed deeply, resting the pen on her desk. "I...I was gonna be out of here before ya woke up."

"No," she murmured, shaking her head. "Not like this."

"Mike," he whispered, sinking into her desk chair. "Mike, please. Just go back to bed."

She shook her head once more. "Where are you going? For how long?"

"I'm leaving for good," he murmured.

"For good? What?" she breathed.

He lowered his eyes, not sure if he could explain without breaking down. "I've got to. We both realize that. This ... this'll be the easiest for you and the kids."

"You can't just leave!" she contended. Her lip trembled. "Cal, we have to talk about this! We have to at least talk before you-"

"We have talked about it," he spoke firmly. "There's nothing more that needs to be said. Your heart knows the truth."

She hesitated. "I don't understand."

"When I found ya in the cabin, ya called for Sully," he admitted painfully. "Later, ya recognized me, but ya called for him right off. Your heart...your heart knows the truth. Sully's the one ya love."

"Please," she begged. "Cal...I'm sorry. I never wanted to hurt you. Don't just leave like this."

He lifted his head. "If ya had to tell me who you're gonna stay with right now, who would it be? Mike ... if you can look me in the eyes and tell me you're gonna divorce Sully, I'll stay."

"Don't do this," she pleaded. "Don't ask me to do this."

"Listen, I can't stand by and watch this any longer. We almost lost ya, all 'cause of me."

She came to his side. "You mean in the cabin? That's ridiculous. It was just an accident. None of it was your fault!"

"Yes it was," he said. "Ya came out there in the first place 'cause of me, 'cause I didn't have the good sense to walk away from all this when Sully first came back. I almost cost ya your life. And the kids, 'cause of me they've been put through a nightmare. I've heard them talk. Mike, they're never gonna accept him with me around. You've tried for weeks now. They got a right to know their real father. They got a right. It ain't happening and it won't until I go."

"You give yourself a lot of credit," she murmured. "I'm responsible for all of this more than anyone."

He closed his eyes. "That's not true, and that's why I gotta leave. I gotta end this." He stood up, inhaling shakily. "Ya gotta promise...promise ya won't blame yourself. This is my decision."

She clasped his hands. "There's nothing I can say?"

He swallowed hard, shaking his head.

"Where will you go?" she asked tearfully. "What about your streetcars, everything you've worked so hard for?"

"That don't matter anymore," he muttered. "...I'm gonna be meeting up with the army, out at Fort Laramie. I've already wired. They'll be expecting me. The army called me to their services once, and I cheated them. I aim to pay 'em back for running away from it when I got drafted."

"No, your father cheated them," Michaela reminded him. "You told him you wanted to go but he wouldn't allow it. He was the one who paid that young man to take your place. It wasn't your fault Cal."

"Well, now that he's gone, his debts are my debts," Cal said. "...Mike, look, I'll be fine. You're not to worry about me. You just focus on getting things back to normal here."

"Nothing can ever be normal again," she whispered, a single tear slipping down her cheek.

He sighed. "Talk to Matthew about this. I'll sign whatever needs to be signed. I'll write you, let you know I got there, give you an address to send the papers to. We can annul it real quiet, just like he said."

"An annulment," she breathed. "That means it wasn't real."

"...Was it real for you, Mike?" he asked softly.

"Real?" she echoed. "I don't think that's a strong enough word."

He touched her cheek gently. "There ain't a word in this world that's strong enough to describe how I've always felt about ya."

"How can you go?" she asked shakily. "How can we ever say goodbye?"

He caressed her arm. "We don't have to. We can pretend...pretend I'm just going for a little walk...to the mercantile, to pick up something ya forgot." He grinned tentatively.

She couldn't help but mirror his expression. "You've always been able to make me smile," she told him, squeezing his hand. "It felt so wonderful, the first time I smiled since Sully was missing. Oh, Cal...you saved my life."

"No, darlin'," he replied unsteadily. "You saved mine."

"...Oh." Tearfully, Michaela held him to her. "I never imagined anything like this could happen. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry I had to hurt you."

"No, don't be sorry. Ya can't be tearing yourself apart over this," he told her, stroking her hair. "Ya gotta put it behind ya. Move into the homestead with him. Send Katie back to school. Mike, try and make things right between you and Sully. He's angry at me, not you. Just try to be patient with each other. You'll find what ya had before. Give it time."

"How can you be so brave?" she murmured.

"You are, too," he replied. "You're the strongest woman I've ever known. You're gonna be fine. All of ya. I'm sure of it."

"I can't imagine never seeing you again," she whispered.

He smoothed her hair behind her ears, not replying. He couldn't.

"Cal?" Michaela said softly. "Know that I've always loved you."

He tilted her chin up. "...Know that I love you, Michaela."

Tenderly, he kissed her, caressing her cheek as her tears spilled onto his fingertips. She whimpered softly, realizing this would be the last time she ever felt his arms around her, the comfort of his lips pressed to hers, the strength of his heartbeat pressed against her breast. Cal had made her heart beat again. She wanted him to leave knowing what was in her heart, but she could not sum up in words the love and gratitude she felt for him. He had spared her the pain of telling him it would be best if he left. As painful as it was, choosing to say goodbye was the right thing to do, and he had spared her having to tell him. She deepened the kiss, not knowing how she could ever let this man go. She was losing her best friend, perhaps forever.

"Cal..." she uttered tearfully as they slowly broke apart.

"Mike, I know," he said reassuringly. He cupped her cheeks in his hands, swiping at her tears with his thumbs. "... I know." At last, he broke away, picking up his bag. "I'll...I'll send word," he said quickly, opening the door. "Tell...tell Katie and Byron I said not to forget their promise."

Stunned, she could only nod. "But aren't you going to say good-"

"I did. I did. Michaela? You'll tell them I love 'em?" he choked.

"They know you do," she managed to whisper. "...But I'll tell them again, Cal."

"Good. Well, I...I got a train to catch." He stepped out onto the porch, not sure if he had the strength to walk away, yet knowing there was no other choice. "Mike," he murmured, "you're gonna be all right. Everything's gonna be all right. I promise." With that he turned, afraid to look back.

to be continued...


	46. Chapter 59

Chapter Fifty-nine

"Mama!" Katie called, pushing open the recovery room door a crack and peeking in. "Mama, time to get up!"

Byron opened the door wider with the toe of his slipper and followed his sister inside. "Time to get up."

"I'm awake," she replied flatly, turning on her side to face them.

Katie eyed her mother hesitantly, immediately sensing something awry in her pale, drawn face and in the stilted manner in which she reached out to caress the children's shoulders. "You're sleepin' late, Mama," the child remarked softly.

"Mama, where's Cal?" Byron asked uneasily, crawling up on the bed in his nightshift and pressing one finger to his chin.

"Cal's not downstairs," Katie added. "We called and called. Did he go to drive the streetcars real early?"

Michaela shifted to sit up in bed and drew Byron into her lap. "I need to talk to you about that actually. I-" Suddenly her voice broke, and she closed her eyes and inhaled slowly to regain control. "Cal's gone, sweetheart. He left while you both were sleeping."

"Left where?" Katie blurted, eyes widening.

"A trip, right Mama?" Byron said assertively.

Michaela smoothed back his hair. "No, darling, not a trip. Well, not in the sense that you're thinking. He went to Fort Laramie, in Wyoming? That's a territory next to Colorado."

"Fort Law-mie?" Byron whimpered. "How come? When's he coming back?"

"When's he coming back?" Katie demanded more forcefully.

Michaela bit her lip hard, shaking her head. "He's going to be in the army. He always wanted to be a soldier. Byron, Katie, he loves you so much. That's one of the last things he told me, to tell you he loves you and wants what's best for you. He's...he's not coming back-"

"No," Katie whispered, lip trembling. "No, Mama."

"Sweetheart, I'm sorry," she replied. "I know this is terribly difficult. Let's talk about it. The three of us." She reached out to take her hand, and Katie immediately snatched it away.

"No!" she shouted, spinning around and running out of the room. Michaela swung her legs out of bed and grabbed her bathrobe hanging on the bedpost. She hurried into the hall and down the stairs after the child, Byron right behind her, struggling to keep up.

"Katie!" Michaela called, catching up to her as the child flung open the front door and staggered out onto the porch, out of breath.

"Cal!" Katie cried, grasping the edge of the bench and searching the quiet street with her eyes. "Cal, where are you? Come back!" she pleaded desperately.

Byron lingered in the doorway, scanning the street where only a few horses were tied to hitching posts, most of the town still indoors and only beginning to awaken and start the day. "Cal!" he echoed tentatively, his tiny voice hoarse in the chilly morning air.

Michaela glanced at Bryon and then tried once more to take Katie's hand. This time, the child slowly allowed it, turning to her mother with tear-filled eyes and letting out a sob.

"Oh, Katie," Michaela murmured, falling to her knees and drawing the child tightly to her chest. "I know. It's all right. I know nothing probably makes sense right now, but Cal left because he loved you. He did it for you. For all of us."

"I wanted Cal to be the papa," Byron spoke up bravely, stepping forward as his mother reached out her arm to him and wrapped it around his back.

"I know, Brynie," Michaela replied, not certain what more to say.

"I don't want nobody else," Katie put in, head buried against her mother's nightgown and hands clutched around her neck.

"Sull-wee's gonna be the papa now?" Byron blurted, the idea striking hard and fast. After all, that was what Brian had told him when he had first met his father, firmly setting in the little boy's head the notion that this Sully would be replacing Cal, eventually at least.

Michaela held them tighter. "I'm not even certain where he is," she admitted quietly. "He's with Cloud Dancing-somewhere." She closed her eyes, letting out her breath. She had lost Cal for good, now it seemed she was losing Sully as well.

"Maybe he went back to N'mexco," Katie said vehemently, wiping at her tears.

"I wanted Cal," Byron said again, raising his fist up and putting his thumb in his mouth, forgetting that he had parted ways with the habit for several months now.

Katie gave another sob. "Me, too. I w-wanted Cal."

Michaela kissed their heads and rocked them back and forth, wanting so much to comfort and console them, dry their tears, help them understand why things were as they were, yet seeing there was little she could do to lessen the children's shock and pain upon discovering Cal vanished from their lives. She had never before felt so completely helpless.

& & &

Activity in the streets picked up as the noon hour approached and townsfolk made their way to the café or the Gold Nugget. Michaela stepped out onto the clinic porch and took a seat on the bench, enjoying the fresh air. She briefly considered waking Byron from his nap in one of the upstairs recovery rooms and walking over to the schoolhouse to have lunch with Brian and Katie, especially since Katie had only just started going back to school the day before. After thinking about it longer, she decided she didn't have the energy or for that matter the appetite.

Every afternoon she stopped by the post office, hoping for word from Cal. She supposed a letter all the way from Wyoming might take two or three weeks to arrive, but just the same, she continued to check in with Horace. It seemed all she had done for the past several days was throw herself in her work at the clinic and take a daily trip to the post office.

She didn't want to burden the children with her grief, and avoided talking to Dorothy or Grace for fear of breaking down. She felt isolated and despondent. She felt as if her closest friend had died. And in a way, he had.

Letting out a sigh, she folded her hands in her lap and gazed absently down the street as her thoughts traveled to Sully. She had begun to really worry about him. She hadn't heard from him since a few days before Cal left for Fort Laramie. Brian had said that he had gathered from the Indians at the Reservation that Sully was with Cloud Dancing, but no one seemed to know the details. Michaela reminded herself that was how her husband had always been. He would disappear in a heartbeat and return when she least expected it. Still, she couldn't help but wonder if something had happened to him, if she should even go so far as to saddle Flash and look for him, he and Cloud Dancing both.

She straightened in surprise as she observed Sully making his way down the street to the clinic. Rising to her feet, she stepped down from the porch and hurried to him, unexpected but intense relief washing over her.

Taken aback, Sully dropped the knapsack slung over his shoulder at his feet and took her in his arms.

"Are you all right?" she asked, slowly stepping away to meet his eyes. He had grown whiskers several days old and his face and clothes were faintly soiled with dust and dirt.

"Yeah," he said, blinking. "Yeah, I'm fine." He drew her to his chest once more, rubbing her back. "I'm sorry. I'm fine." He picked up his knapsack, watching her distraught eyes with remorse. He hadn't thought his leaving would worry her so. He felt guilty for not coming to her first, telling her where he was going so she wouldn't wonder where he was. His only excuse was that he simply hadn't thought of that before. "Here, let's sit down."

Michaela stepped up onto the porch with him, sitting once more on the bench. She was upset with him for disappearing, yet had feared his return, had feared the change it would bring. She would have to maintain her composure to tell him about Cal and annulling the marriage. After that, she wasn't sure what would happen. She didn't know how they could simply ride home; go about the normal routine of four years ago, carrying on as if nothing had happened. Everything had happened in four years and everything was going to be different.

"Are the kids all right?" he asked, tentatively stretching his arm out to lay his hand comfortingly on her knee. He wanted to ask how she was as well, but felt far too uncomfortable.

"They're as well as can be expected," she replied simply. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. "Where were you?" she asked.

He cleared his throat. "Well, that's what I came to talk t' ya about." He took a deep breath. "I met up with Cloud Dancin' a few days back. He said I should go on a vision quest. Said I needed to ask the Spirits for help."

"You've been out somewhere all alone in this weather?" Michaela questioned, instinctively grasping his shirtsleeve.

"I didn't notice the cold after awhile," Sully replied. "I sat, I listened, and I thought, for three days. I thought about everything. Mostly you. You and ... how much I've always wanted ya happy." He turned slightly to face her, eyes filled with deep emotion. "I care about you and the kids and your happiness so much, Michaela. That's always been the most important thing to me."

"Sully-" she whispered, shaking her head. He had no idea Cal was gone. It seemed unfair to keep it from him a moment longer, but he appeared bent on saying what he wanted to say.

He held up one finger in protest. "Just listen. Even though I'd give anythin' to get back what we had, to take away what happened with the army, me gettin' into that mess-what I care about the most is doin' what's best for ya, for our children." He felt as if his heart was breaking as he spoke. "So if you think it's best ya stay here with him, then that's what ya gotta do. I could visit the kids when I can. It could work, I know it could."

"Sully," she protested tearfully. "Please-"

"Don't. Don't make this harder than it has to be," he told her, swallowing. "Listen, I love all of ya more than you know. When I think of the pain I've put you, Brian, Katie and Byron through all these years ... I can't hardly live with myself. All I want now is for you to have a normal, happy life again. This is the right thing to do. So you tell Cal ... tell Cal I'll sign the divorce papers."

"Oh, Sully. He's gone," she said breathlessly.

He held his breath. "Cal? What do ya mean?"

"He took the train out of town earlier this week. We're annulling the marriage. Sully...what Cal and I had was special...but he knew before we married that you would always be a part of me. I never once forgot you. I never ... never once stopped loving you. He asked me to choose. He asked me if I had to decide right then, could I leave you." She gently touched his arm. "Sully, I couldn't. I've always known I couldn't."

He searched her face. There was great sadness in her eyes, but hope as well. "You all right?" he whispered. It felt good to finally ask about her. He had wanted to for so long.

Michaela swallowed hard. "I think so. This is what we all wanted, isn't it? For it to end? For everything to be over?"

"For the kids' sake, at least," Sully said quietly. He looked up as Byron appeared in the doorway, rubbing his eyes of sleep.

The little boy hung back uncertainly as he focused on Sully.

"Hey, Byron," Sully spoke up. "... I missed ya."

Michaela held her hand out and Byron immediately ran to her, clasping her fingers securely.

"I missed ya," Sully murmured once more, tenderly clutching his arm. "Ya hungry? Wanna go over to Miz Grace's? You and your ma?"

Byron paused apprehensively, squeezing Michaela's hand tighter. He was happy to see Sully, yet felt confused and torn by his presence. Katie seemed to think he had somehow made Cal go away, and though the little boy wanted to be loyal to her, he wasn't sure how he felt just yet. He did know he liked spending time with his father, playing and talking, and the idea of Grace's cooking and perhaps even a look at Sully's tomahawk again was too much to resist. He felt his mother rubbing his back encouragingly, and gave a small nod. "All wight," he said softly. "Can I get pie?"

Sully smiled, standing up and taking his free hand. "Sure ya can."

The three walked the short distance to the café, Byron between his mother and father, hanging onto their hands. Grace met them at the entrance with a pleased smile and led them to a small table beneath a tree.

Matthew glanced up from his cup of coffee nearby, rising from his chair with a smile as Sully pulled out Michaela's chair and boosted Byron onto the bench. "Sully," he called, putting his hat back on and approaching them. "Good to see ya home."

Sully shook his hand as he sat down beside Byron. "Matthew."

Matthew removed his hat awkwardly and smoothed back his hair. "Well, how ya all doin'?"

Sully cleared his throat as Grace placed a mug in front of him and filled it with coffee. He glanced at Michaela, not sure how to reply.

"Good," Byron said before anyone else could speak. He gazed at Matthew's belt and revolver with a fresh curiosity. "Do you got a tom-hawk, Matt-ew?" he asked. "Sull-wee has a tom-hawk."

"No, just this pistol," Matthew said, pressing one hand to it and laying his other hand atop Byron's head. "Ya wanna see?"

"Yeah!" the child breathed.

Michaela tensed, eyeing the weapon. "Byron, be careful-"

"It's all right, Dr. Mike," Matthew said as he slid the gun from the holster. "It ain't cocked."

She looked to Sully for support, but he remained silent. "Just the same I ... " She trailed off, watching Byron's fascination indecisively as Matthew carefully held it in front of him. The little boy reached out and ran his fingers along the shiny barrel. She noticed with dismay that Sully didn't pull Byron's hand away, as she most certainly would have.

Byron had never before had such an interest in weapons, not until his father had shown him his tomahawk. Michaela wanted Byron and Sully to find things in common, do things together, but she worried for the fearless child. Accidents could happen no matter how careful people were and a four-year-old no doubt had little idea of the power the sheriff's small pistol held, or a tomahawk for that matter. She simply wanted Sully to consider that before he so readily sat back and allowed the child access to such things.

"You carry a gun, son," Sully spoke, "that means you're willin' to shoot at somebody if need be, and everybody will know that. Ya gotta consider that long and hard if ya think one day ya might want that on your belt."

"That's right," Matthew said in agreement, placing the weapon back in its holster and patting Byron's shoulder.

"It's like my tomahawk, only for protectin' yourself," Sully added. "It ain't for playin'."

Byron licked his lips, eyes still focused elatedly on the gun. "Not for playin," he repeated absently.

Michaela held back her protests, deciding now was not the best time to offer her opinion on the subject. "Will you stay and eat with us, Matthew?" she asked.

"Thanks, Dr. Mike, but I got a mountain of paperwork over at the office," he replied. "I'll see you around town."

"See ya, Matt-ew!" Byron called, picking up the cup of milk Grace had poured for him and taking a sip.

Grace stepped forward, pencil poised over her notepad. "Can I bring ya over some meatloaf? Meatloaf and fried okra is the special today."

"That sounds lovely, Grace," Michaela said. "We'll have that."

"Sounds good," Sully added.

Byron put down his cup and looked up at Grace. "Can I help?"

Grace beamed, sticking her pencil over her ear and wrapping her arm around him. "You sure can, pumpkin! Come on with Miz Grace and we'll bring out your lunch!"

Sully and Michaela watched the two walk to the kitchen, hand in hand, laughing and grinning.

"He's sure taken a likin' to her," Sully remarked casually, wrapping his hands around his mug.

"Yes, he always has," Michaela agreed. "When he was born I asked Grace and Robert E. to be his godparents as well. I thought that's what you would have wanted, too. They seemed thrilled to accept."

He nodded. "Can't think of better godparents for 'em."

"Sully?" she whispered. "Sully, tell me you'll stay. Don't leave us."

"...Then that's it? It's over?"

"It's over," she murmured hesitantly, not sure if it would ever truly be over. "Cal wants us to try to find what we had. He wants us all to be happy."

"He said that?" Sully questioned.

She nodded. "Yes."

He rested his hands on his knees, digesting it all. "... What about you, Michaela? You want that, too?"

"Oh, so very much," she replied earnestly. "But...I'm not sure if I know where to begin."

He gazed at Byron and Grace in the outdoor kitchen area, then at the clinic across the café. "...Well...how 'bout movin' back to the homestead with me and Brian? Have all of us together."

She hesitated, following his eyes to the clinic. It would be difficult for everyone, at the very least, but more could be accomplished if they were all under the same roof. Sully was right. Returning to the homestead was a good first step. "Yes, all right," she consented. "We'll come home."

& & &

Michaela rapped softly on Katie's door, Sully standing nervously at her side, her hand clasped lightly in his. "Ready for bed?" she called, opening the door and entering the bedroom.

Katie nodded her head as she climbed under the covers. Michaela sat on the bed and untied the lace ribbons from her daughter's braids.

Sully lingered behind Michaela, afraid to come too close and upset Katie. It had been an awkward first day back together for the family, and growing more awkward still. Sully spoke little to Michaela, and instead focused his efforts on the children. He'd taken the boys fishing at the creek for the afternoon, though to no surprise Katie refused to join them. She and Michaela stayed behind at the homestead and prepared supper. Later as they all sat around the table eating tasty fried trout, even Brian couldn't think of what to say to keep the conversation going. As soon as the supper dishes were cleared and washed, Michaela ushered the children upstairs. Beginning to adjust to the new situation had left them all exhausted, and a good night's sleep certainly couldn't hurt.

Michaela placed Katie's ribbons on her nightstand, and then tucked the covers up to the child's chin. "Goodnight, darling. I love you."

"Love you, Mama," Katie replied as Michaela kissed her cheek.

Michaela glanced back at Sully. "Katie..." she began cautiously. "Katie, say goodnight to Papa."

Sully stepped forward, taking Michaela's place and carefully touching the child's arm. "'Night, sweet girl. I love ya."

Katie pursed her lips firmly and curled up on her side, her back facing her parents.

Eyes lowered, Sully stood up.

"Let's tuck the boys in," Michaela said quickly, eager to relieve him of the painful situation.

They made their way across the hall to Byron's room. Brian was kneeling before his little brother, helping him button his nightshift.

"Sull-wee!" Byron exclaimed as his parents entered the room. "Can we go fishin' again tomorrow?"

"Ya liked that, didn't ya, B.?" Brian said with a smile, tousling his hair.

"We'll see, all right?" Sully replied, picking him up and tucking him haphazardly under the covers.

"When Cal comes back, he can come, too," Byron said eagerly.

Michaela cleared her throat awkwardly. "Sweetheart, we need to talk about this. I don't think you truly understand-"

"Michaela, it's all right," Sully interrupted. "Not now. We're all tired."

Reluctantly, she quieted. Despite numerous attempts to sit the little boy down and explain things to him, he had continued to insist that Cal was simply on a brief trip, soon to return. It was as if he had told himself if he believed it strong enough, it would be true.

Sully knelt down and kissed his head. "I love ya, Byron. G'night."

"Tell me a story, Sull-wee," Byron replied, not ready to close his eyes.

"Pa knows lots of stories, B.," Brian spoke up helpfully. "He'll tell ya about the Cheyenne, and the White Buffalo, and when he was a kid only a little older than you, workin' on the Erie Canal. That's all the way in New York ..."

"Can you tell me &my& story?" Byron piped up. "That's better then all them. Even Mama says. And she was there."

"Byron, hush," Michaela said quietly. "Not tonight."

Sully looked to his wife for help.

"It's, um ... about the day he was born," she told him uncomfortably, clasping her hands. "He likes hearing it."

"Why do ya always want that one?" Brian demanded irritably. "Ma's told it to ya at least a hundred times. Don't ya ever get sick of it?"

"Nope," Byron replied simply.

"Well, Pa'll tell ya all sorts of &new& stories," Brian said.

"No, no story tonight," Michaela said firmly. "It's late, Byron. You should have asked earlier if you wanted one."

"Mama, no," he moaned. "That's no fair! I want one now!"

"Byron, I said no," Michaela replied, her patience wearing after a very long day. "Now to bed!"

"Ya don't have to be so harsh with him," Sully spoke up suddenly, looking up at her.

"Harsh?" Michaela uttered. "Sully, I'm far more lenient than I should be! We can't give in to his every last desire."

"All he wants is a little story!" Sully contended.

"He does this every night," Michaela said, knowing she should bite her tongue but unable to stop herself. "He'll persist and persist until he gets what he wants, and then ends up staying awake far past his bedtime. We need to be firm ... You haven't been around the last four years to know this!"

Byron looked from one parent to the other and began sniveling, rubbing his eyes with his fists. "I sorry."

"Look what ya did. Ya made him cry!" Brian spoke up angrily, staring down his parents as he rubbed his brother's back. "It's your first day back together and ya gotta fight like that. Why? Why do ya gotta do that in front of him?"

"I sorry," Byron whimpered once more. "I won't be bad."

Sully grasped the little boy's arm, shamefaced. "Oh, it's all right, Byron. It ain't your fault. It's all right."

"Fine," Michaela murmured, feeling terrible for upsetting the children, and regretting her quarrel with Sully over something so trivial. She especially felt terrible for bringing up the past four years. She knew it wasn't Sully's fault. She wasn't angry with him, only heartbreakingly sorry it had happened. This was not how she had envisioned their first night back together. "Tell him a story if that's what he wants," she went on. " ... Goodnight."

Brian took a step towards his mother. "Night, Ma," he said softly.

Byron glanced at his older brother, then at Michaela. "'Night, Mama," he echoed. "Sweet dweams."

Michaela's expression softened. "Goodnight, sweethearts. Sweet dreams."

to be continued...


	47. Chapter 60

Chapter Sixty

"Michaela?" Sully called, raising his fist and knocking softly on her door. He opened it to find her sitting at her vanity, in her nightgown and bathrobe. She put down her brush and hugged herself modestly, watching his reflection in the mirror.

"That was quite a long story," she remarked.

He smiled. "No, he's been asleep for awhile now. I was out in the barn. The horses needed a good brush-down and the cow was low on water."

She sighed. "That's Brian's responsibility. I'll speak with him in the morning."

"No, don't. He's in his room readin'. School's gotta come first."

She shifted uncomfortably. "Thank you. You didn't have to."

He came to her side and she averted her eyes, embarrassed in only her nightclothes, despite how foolish she knew that sounded. It had been so long since they had been together, four long years, that anything akin to intimacy left her flushed and embarrassed, much like the feelings she used to experience before she and Sully were married, feelings she thought she had long left behind.

"Michaela, I can take care of these things now, all right?" he said. "I'll do the chores from now on, and hitch the wagon, and fix whatever needs fixin'."

"Sully, you'd be so proud of Brian. He helped out so much while you were gone. He took it upon himself to be man of the house, and never let us down."

"He's a fine boy," Sully agreed. "But I aim to see he stops growin' up so quick."

She turned in her chair, drawing in her breath. "Sully ... I want this to work so much it frightens me, and sometimes I express that in the wrong way. I'm sorry about this evening. You're right, I was harsh. I didn't mean to be."

"It's all right. I'm scared, too," he admitted hoarsely, kneeling beside her. "But we can take things real slow, all right? One thing at a time."

She nodded. "Yes...Um, next Saturday morning I'm going to the mercantile. Saturdays I usually do the shopping for the week. Do you think you might stay at the homestead with Byron and Katie?"

He hesitated, not sure how Katie would feel about being left alone with him. "Well, we could come with ya," he suggested. "Do somethin' as a family ..."

"I suppose," she said. "If you want to."

He stood. "Yeah, we'll all go." Awkwardly, he stepped back, not certain what more to say.

Michaela folded her hands, wondering what would happen next. Part of her so wanted Sully to join her in bed, gather her into his arms, kiss and caress her everywhere she ached to feel his touch and make love to her with all the passion of four years lost. Yet she felt ill-prepared for such a step, and incredibly uncomfortable in his presence. Her cheeks warming, she stared clumsily at her hands. "Sully, what you said about taking things slow ... perhaps we-"

He held up his hand. He had sensed Michaela's thoughts for some time. She wasn't ready to welcome him back into her life as if he had simply been on a long trip, and he wasn't sure if he was either. "Michaela, I know. I came t' say g'night." He gently laid his hand on her back. "... G'night."

"Goodnight," she murmured shakily.

He placed a small kiss on her head, then quietly exited the room, shutting the door behind him.

Michaela felt a pang of guilt. They had so much to resolve. She knew they needed some time together to simply talk, painful as that might be, yet they seemed virtually incapable of remaining alone in the same room for more than a few minutes. She breathed a sigh as she raised the brush to her hair once more. They were becoming fairly adept at delaying the inevitable. For tonight, she and Sully wouldn't lie side by side, afraid to look at one another, speak, even move. They were relieved of another difficult situation, at least for the night.

& & &

Michaela felt herself rousing from the place between sleep and awake, when one wasn't sure what was real and what was a dream. She wrinkled her nose as she pictured a meadow of blooming daisies and daffodils.

"Mama," Byron whispered, crawling up onto the bed beside her, "are you aseep?"

She chuckled, stretching her arms as she opened her eyes to a disheveled bouquet of wildflowers held beneath her nose. "Yes," she said wryly.

"Wake up," he urged. "I picked you flowers."

She placed her hands beneath his arms and hoisted the little boy onto her stomach. He straddled her torso with a giggle and held the flowers beneath her nose once more. "They smell pwetty?"

She touched his nose. "Very pretty. Thank you."

He placed the bouquet beside him. "Sull-wee says when you're sorry ya give a lady pwetty flowers."

"He did, hm?" Michaela replied, brushing at a trace of a milk mustache on Byron's upper lip with her thumb. "And did Sully help you button your britches and fix you breakfast?"

He nodded. "He made me and Brian and Katie oatmeal. It was good but Katie didn't want it. She won't even try like you say to. Not even one bite."

Michaela sighed. She had a feeling if anyone else had made the oatmeal, Katie would have eaten it without complaint. Silently, the little girl continued to protest her father's new place in her life and Michaela didn't know what else she could do to ease the transition.

"Mama, I decided I'm not gonna be a bad boy anymore," he went on. "I promised Cal I'd be good but I musta forgotted. But I'll be good now so you an' Sull-wee won't fight."

"Oh, sweetheart," Michaela said, "you mustn't think our quarrel had anything to do with you. We're frustrated with the situation, do you understand? We're not upset with anyone but ourselves."

He touched his finger to his chin. "You ain't mad?"

"Ain't?" she echoed. "Not, Byron. Mama's ¬& mad. Since when do you say ain't?"

He shrugged. "Sull-wee says ain't. He says pick flowers and then you ain't gonna be mad."

"I suppose he does," she admitted.

"Even Cal says it," Byron added.

Michaela drew in her breath. "Brynie, about Cal..."

"When he comes back, I'm gonna ask if he wants to catch fishes with us, too."

She took his hands. "Cal isn't coming back, darling. We're going to live with Sully now. He's your papa. It hurts his feelings if we talk about Cal in front of him. We have to try not to do that. It's all right to miss him, but we need to start accepting and adjusting to how things are going to be permanently."

"What's permanly?" he questioned.

She cupped his cheek in her hand. "Well, it means ... for a long time. Forever."

"Cal's not comin' back forever?" he asked tearfully.

She swallowed hard. "No, but Sully's here, and we're going to be a family again. We're going to be a family again ... soon, I hope."

& & &

"...Katie still having trouble?" Dorothy asked as she and Michaela looked over several spools of material in one corner of the store.

Michaela nodded solemnly. "She all but ignores him. She's so different from her usual self. She's always been an independent child but lately she's tearful and clings to me like she did only when she was very small." She sighed. "Katie's lost interest in everything: school, her friends, even play. She's regressing more and more."

"Well, it must be quite a change for her," Dorothy pointed out. "She must not remember Sully at all."

"No, but we keep trying."

"Well, Sully seems to be gettin' along real well with the boys at least," Dorothy remarked.

Michaela looked behind her at the candy jars. Sully had sat Byron on the counter while Brian filled a paper bag with their favorite sweets. They were talking, laughing, and genuinely enjoying each other's company. It was the picture she had only dared to dream of. "They both adore him," she murmured. "I know Byron misses Cal, but he loves being with Sully."

"That's wonderful," Dorothy said, patting her hand.

Michaela ran her fingers over a spool of soft velvet. "I suppose. It's all Sully does, really. He spends the day with Byron while I'm at the clinic, and then picks up the older children from school. They're always off on picnics, or fishing, having pie in the café, or outside in the yard with Wolf..."

"Feelin' left out?" Dorothy questioned.

"No, of course not." She shrugged. " ... Perhaps a little. I'm thrilled for them, it's just ... there's never a spare moment for Sully and I. We never talk. When I try to talk with him, he finds an excuse to go off somewhere with the children...and when I do catch him alone, I don't know what to say."

"Well, he probably doesn't know what to say either," her friend offered.

Michaela bit her lip. "Dorothy...he sleeps by the fire. He avoids me at all costs. He doesn't think it's going to work."

"Oh, Michaela. I'm sure he doesn't think that," Dorothy protested.

"Sometimes I'm afraid he does. And when we do talk, it's always about the children," she went on. "It's as if we don't have anything else in common anymore."

Dorothy grasped her shoulders. "Michaela, you've got to give this time. You've never been a patient person but in this case you're going to have to slow down and let things run their course. You have to take it one step at a time."

"That's what Sully said," she murmured.

"And Sully's right," Dorothy said wryly.

"...I miss him, too," she admitted suddenly. "I miss Cal."

Dorothy gave her a tight hug. "Oh, Michaela. That's perfectly natural ... and you shouldn't feel you have to keep that inside. I'm here whenever you want to talk about it."

"Do you want some gum drops, too, Byron?" Sully asked, tousling his son's hair.

Byron nodded vigorously, eyes wide as he chomped on a stick of licorice.

"Add a scoop of gumdrops, Brian," Sully instructed.

Brian obliged. "This bag's getting full, Pa."

"We'll have to start a new one. We haven't got anything for Katie yet." He patted Byron's leg and turned to the front counter where Katie stood, her nose pressed to the glass. "Kates...we're gettin' some candy. What kind's your favorite?" He stepped beside her and bent to his knees. "...Come on, sweet girl. Tell Papa what ya like. Taffy?"

Katie disregarded him, looking up at Loren who began feather dusting the top of the counter.

"You like licorice, don't ya, Katie?" the storekeeper spoke up.

She blinked solemnly. "I'm not hungry."

"She likes licorice, Sully," Loren said helpfully.

Sully followed the child's gaze to a beautiful porcelain doll with golden curls and large brown eyes, dressed in a lacy crimson gown. "She's real pretty," he spoke. "Looks like you, don't she."

"Came all the way from St. Louis," Loren remarked, resting his feather duster on the counter and opening his side of the glass case. He removed the doll from the case and stood her on the counter.

"Sull-wee, I want down now," Byron called, wiggling anxiously on the counter.

Michaela's eyes widened. "You can't just leave him up there and walk away, Sully!" She hurried to her son and put him on his feet.

" ... He's fine, Michaela," Sully said, coming to her side.

Loren and Dorothy shared a glance, but remained silent.

"He could have fallen," Michaela scolded, hugging Byron to her skirts protectively. "And with a piece of candy in his mouth, too. He might have fallen and choked."

Byron looked up at his mother, uncertain how to react. Clumsily, he dropped his half-eaten licorice stick to the floor. "Uh-oh," he whispered, bending to pick it up. "Uh-oh, Mama." He tugged on her sleeve with his sticky fingers, holding up the dusty candy. "I dropped it on acc-dent. I need another one. Mama, I need another one."

"You've had enough for now, Brynie," she said as she came behind Katie with her basket.

"But I dropped it," he whimpered. He turned to his father, eyes welling with tears. "Sull-wee, I dropped my lic-rish. I didn't mean it. Really. I get another one?"

Sully gazed at Michaela. She was watching him out of the corner of her eye, ready to spring on him if he gave in. He knew what she said was true, he was far too passive when it came to the children, but he found himself incapable of scolding Byron, with his pleading pair of blue eyes begging for sympathy. After four years of separation, he couldn't imagine spending a moment of their precious time together raising his voice. "Well, maybe we could rinse it off," he suggested.

"Sully, he can't eat off the floor," Michaela replied sensibly.

"Your ma's right," Sully said quietly. He picked him up, pressing his lips to his ear. "We'll have some gumdrops when we get home, all right?" he whispered.

Byron hugged his neck, nodding. "All wight," he whispered back.

"Could you add these to my account please, Loren?" Michaela asked, placing her basket on the counter.

"... Sure, Dr. Mike. I s'pose." With a barely audible grumble, Loren opened his ledger and charted the items with a pencil.

Katie continued to gaze longingly at the doll as Michaela caressed her head. "She's very nice," she remarked.

"Uh-huh." Katie held one of the doll's delicate hands carefully in her fingers. "Mama ... do you think...?"

"Maybe for your birthday, hm?" Michaela replied, taking her daughter's hand. "Ready to go?"

"Michaela?" Sully called softly. "Uh, I was gonna get Katie some candy, too. For later, after supper, that is."

Michaela stooped down. "That sounds good, doesn't it, sweetheart? Would you like a little candy? Your brothers are having some."

The child narrowed her brow. "No," she whispered. "I hate candy."

"That's not true, Katie," Michaela persisted. "You love licorice."

"Kate, don't be silly," Brian spoke up, handing the bag to Loren to be weighed. "Nobody hates candy."

"I do, too!" Katie spoke more firmly.

"It's all right. Leave her be," Sully spoke. "She doesn't want anything right now."

"Katie's mad at you I think, Sull-wee," Byron whispered helpfully, fingering his father's beads.

"Shh, I know," he murmured.

"Mama says it's all right to be mad," he added.

Sully kissed his cheek as he carried him out of the store. "Your ma's right. Everybody feels mad sometimes." He hesitated. "Are you mad, Byron?"

He stuck out his lower lip. "I get mad at Cal 'cause he went away and is never comin' back permanly. That means forever."

"Oh, that's not mad, son," Sully said, rubbing his back. "That's sad. You're sad 'cause ya miss him."

"I miss him," Byron agreed, resting his head against Sully's shoulder. "But Mama said try not to talk 'bout Cal 'cause it hurts your feelin's."

Sully glanced behind him, where Brian, Michaela and Katie were following several paces behind with the candy and the basket of goods. "Well, I s'pose sometimes it does...but what hurts me more is seein' you and Kates sad with nobody to talk to. That hurts more than anything, Byron. Your papa's gonna be here for ya, always."

"Know what, Sull-wee?" Byron piped up.

"What?"

"I think this is gonna be pwetty good, having you for my papa. You're nice."

Sully closed his eyes, pressing his cheek to his child's hair. He felt a new and powerful bond with the little boy. He'd always had a deep love for him, since the moment they crossed paths at the creek, neither realizing who the other was, but for the first time, it was as if their spirits had truly come together. It seemed the farther he drifted apart from Michaela and especially Katie, the closer he grew to his sons. He only wished he could hold all four together, and have all four return his grasp with just as much love. "And I think it's gonna be pretty good havin' you for my son," he whispered.

& & &

Byron suppressed a tired yawn, clutching an open storybook and snuggled in his mother's lap as she read to him. He had remembered to ask Michaela for a story directly after supper this time, to be certain there would be plenty of time. He was dogged on stretching the tale as long as he could, and proving that he could stay up late with everyone else.

"'At night the princess said good-bye to her father, and set out on the carpet for Aladdin's palace, with his mother at her side, and followed by the hundred slaves," Michaela continued, stroking Byron's hair with one hand and holding one end of the book with the other. "'She was charmed at the sight of Aladdin, who ran to receive her. "Princess," he said, "blame your beauty for my boldness if I have displeased you."'

"The princess is real nice and pwetty, right Mama?" Byron interrupted, pointing at the colorful pictures.

"Hm-mm," Michaela replied. She glanced at Sully and Brian, who were engaged in a serious game of checkers. It was almost like old times, aside from the conspicuous absence of Katie. Claiming she had some arithmetic homework, the child had retired upstairs directly after supper.

"Mama," Byron said, shaking her arm. "Mama, keep goin'," he encouraged.

"I'm sorry," Michaela murmured. "'She told him that, having seen him, she willingly obeyed her father in this matter. After the wedding had taken place, Aladdin led her into the hall, where a feast was spread, and she supped with him, after which they danced till midnight.'"

"They gots married?" the little boy spoke up, turning the page for his mother. "You and Cal gots married and we all danced lots, too. That was fun."

Sully looked up uncomfortably, but didn't comment.

"Byron, what did we talk about?" Michaela whispered.

"I forgotted," he replied guiltily.

"I think it's time we head to bed," she told him, closing the book.

Sully stood up abruptly. "I...I'm gonna check on Katie, see if she needs help with her schoolwork."

"Sully, are you sure?" Michaela questioned softly.

He nodded stiffly. "Yeah. I got somethin' I wanna give her anyway. Keep readin' to him." He rested his hand on Brian's shoulder. "I'll be back down in a bit. We'll finish the game, I promise."

"I'll wait for ya, Pa," Brian said agreeably, resting his back against the leg of a wingback chair and picking up the week's addition of the Gazette resting on the seat.

Sully made his way quietly upstairs, took a side trip to the master bedroom for a brief moment, then knocked on Katie's half open door, a brown paper-wrapped package in his hands. "Hey, sweet girl. Still workin'?" he asked, slowly walking into the room.

Katie sat at her desk, pencil in hand, bent over a set of simple addition problems. She was dressed for bed in a nightgown and small deer hide slippers. Sully wondered if Cloud Dancing had made them for her. He knew his brother had helped out the family as much as he could when he was missing, and Sully would be forever grateful.

"Ya like arithmetic, do ya?" He knelt to her level. "Your ma says you're real bright, do real well in school. I'm proud of ya."

Katie focused harder on the problem at hand, biting her lip.

"I, uh, got something for ya," he went on persistently. "Saw it catch your eye the other day." He placed the package on her desk. "Katie, I wanna say I'm sorry for not being here all this time. I'm sorry about everything I've missed. This don't make up for it, I know ... but I want you to have it, for all the birthdays I ain't been around for." He held his breath as the child's pencil slowed. "Please, Kates, open it?" He nudged the package forward.

Katie suddenly turned her head to face him, looked him squarely in the eye, her face expressionless, then turned just as quickly back to her schoolwork.

Sully stared at the floor. "All right. All right. I'll just leave it here. You can open it when you're ready." He stood up, one hand on the back of her chair. "Katie? I love you," he murmured. He moved his hand to caress her head, but hesitated and withdrew. "You best get to bed soon," he murmured. "I'll see ya in the morning, all right? ... 'Night."

Bitterly disappointed, Sully made his way out the door.

Katie dropped her pencil and rested her chin atop her hands as she stared at the package. It was crumpled, ineptly wrapped, and about the length of her arm. She averted her gaze, taking a deep breath. She was not going to give in to Sully. She had decided long ago she hated him, and nothing could change that. Tears welling in her eyes, she thought of Cal. He had talked about birthdays, too. He'd been there for every birthday she could remember, helping Mama decorate, passing out the cake, thinking up fun games for the guests. He had never had a lot of money to buy her gifts, but he'd always come up with something she loved, be it as simple as her favorite storybook. This year, he had said, the streetcars were really paying off. He was going to get her something special, he had promised. She imagined he too would have noticed her admiring the doll in the mercantile, and maybe he would have gotten it for her ... and if not, well, he would have found something similar and she would have cherished it. Cal knew her. He knew what she liked and what she didn't. He would never have to ask what kind of candy she wanted, or what school subjects she preferred.

Sully didn't know her, simply put. He would always be a stranger. Tears slipped down Katie's cheeks as curiosity got the better of her. She tugged at one end of the string on the package.

"Katie's still working on her arithmetic?" Michaela asked as Sully returned to the fireside.

He nodded. "Almost done I think." He smiled softly at Byron. His thumb was in his mouth and the book was lying across his chest. "Look at him. He's fast asleep."

"He'd never admit he's tired if his life depended on it," Brian chuckled softly.

Sully held out his arms. "Here, let me take him up to bed, Michaela," he offered.

Suddenly, an unforgiving crash was heard from upstairs.

"What was that?" Brian asked, rising to his feet worriedly. "Katie?"

Michaela immediately handed a stirring Byron to his father, then lifted her skirts and hurried up the stairs, Sully and Brian behind her.

"Katie?" Michaela called anxiously, rushing into the child's room. " ... Katie!"

to be continued...


	48. Chapter 61

Chapter Sixty-one

Michaela found Katie crouched in one corner of her room, the shattered remains of the doll from the mercantile beside her. The little girl raised her head, face flushed, sobs emanating from deep within her chest.

"Katie," Michaela murmured. Without further hesitation, she fell to her knees beside the child, gathering her tightly into her arms. "Oh, darling. Are you hurt? Are you all right?"

Brian and Sully lingered in the doorway, afraid to move.

Katie clutched her mother, her tears intensifying

"Oh, Katie, it's all right," Michaela soothed, kissing her head. "Shh ..."

"I'll get the broom, Ma," Brian spoke up, turning to the stairs.

"Michaela, I..." Sully stepped into the room, a curious Byron in his arms. "Kates...I thought ya wanted..."

"Sully," Michaela began, "could you put Byron to bed, please?"

He hesitated. "Uh...sure."

"Make sure you put on his socks," she instructed gently. "You forgot last time."

"I will," he said quietly.

Michaela stood up, cradling her daughter in her arms, and found a thick quilt from Katie's bureau. She took a seat in the rocking chair and wrapped the whimpering child in the warm material. She began rocking Katie silently, occasionally pausing to kiss her fair head. Brian returned a minute later and swept up the pieces of porcelain.

"Kate, maybe tomorrow I could try an' glue her back together," he offered softly, knowing such a task was probably impossible.

Michaela reached for his hand, shaking her head. "Thank you, Brian. We'll see you in the morning. Could you close the door behind you?"

"... Sure thing." He squeezed her hand. "'Night, Ma. Night, Katie."

Michaela reached for a handkerchief in her petticoat pocket and held it to Katie's nose. "Here, sweetheart. Blow." She smoothed her hair from her brow. "...Does that feel better?"

"Hm-hm," Katie replied.

"You really wanted that doll, didn't you?" Michaela began softly.

Katie sniffled. "N-not from him."

"I know," her mother replied. "I understand."

Katie drew in her breath. "You're not mad? You always say I gotta play with Sully and hug him and h-he loves me."

"Oh, no, I'm not mad. Just upset I suppose. Sully does love you and he's so sorry he hasn't been here for you. He was trying to tell you that, that's all."

"He said he's sorry to me, for being missin'," Katie admitted. "...I felt bad. He didn't mean it I don't think."

Michaela swallowed hard. "Oh, that's right. You're right, he didn't mean it, and he tried so hard to come home to us as soon as he could ... but that doesn't mean it's any easier to make a big change like this. I've been so focused on encouraging you to accept him, in the process sometimes I forget how hard that has to be." She smoothed back her hair. "Sweetheart, Sully wanted you to have that doll and that hurt his feelings when you so deliberately broke it. What you did was unacceptable, Katie, and I think you know that ... however your feelings aren't wrong. I want you to know I understand what you're feeling."

"You do?" the child questioned.

"I think so. I know you were too small to remember, but when Sully was first missing, Mama was so very sad. I just didn't want to believe that he was really gone, that he wasn't coming back. I felt so alone."

"Sometimes I pretend Cal is comin' back," Katie admitted quietly.

"Oh, and that's all right," Michaela assured her. "I did that, too. I'd pretend your daddy was on a little trip, and would be coming home in a few days. It made me so sad when he never came home, and I started to forget how special you and Brian are to me, and Byron growing inside of me and how nice that was going to be having a baby brother for you. Auntie Dorothy and Miss Grace and all our friends started to worry about me, and they tried very hard to help me accept that Sully was gone." She gazed absently out the window where a light rain had begun to fall. "I was so angry at them. They meant well, but I felt as if they were trying to make me forget him, and that frightened me. I cried, I didn't speak very much, I didn't want to eat, and I threw things, too."

"Really?" Katie asked curiously. "Like what?"

She smiled. "Well, I broke a pitcher once, and I think a lamp. At the time it felt good."

"Yeah," Katie agreed.

"Katie, the point is no one could make me want to get through that sadness and welcome happiness back into my life but myself. It helped very much to have everyone's support, and it especially helped to have someone to talk to, but only I knew when I was ready, and someday you will, too."

"I'll know when I'm ready?" Katie spoke.

"Yes." Michaela threaded her fingers with her daughter's. "In the meantime you can come to me. You don't have to keep anything to yourself."

"Mama, it's his fault," Katie burst out. "He made Cal go away!"

"Oh, darling. It was Cal's decision to move to Wyoming. He didn't want to go but he knew what was best for us. Remember we talked about children having one mommy and one daddy? Cal knew it was for the best that we all live with your real papa."

"How do you know?"

"Well, he told me," she explained. "It made me very unhappy he had to leave, but I also realized there really was no simple solution to the situation. Cal had to go eventually for many complicated reasons, we both realized that, but nonetheless it was painful. I still miss him so much. It's hard saying that because, just like you, I don't want to upset anyone with my feelings. But sometimes the worst thing we can do is keep things to ourselves."

Katie thought over her mother's words. "... I miss Cal, too."

"I know," Michaela murmured. "But Cal never wanted to see you so upset. He left because he wanted all of us to be happy. I'd like it so much if you gave our new family a try, and Cal wants that, too. Perhaps not right now, and not tomorrow, but when you're ready and comfortable. How does that sound?"

Katie closed her eyes. "Better."

"Good," Michaela murmured, snuggling Katie closer. "I love you so much, sweetheart ..."

& & &

After tucking Byron in and making sure he was fast asleep, Sully lingered outside of Katie's room, his arms crossed as he leaned against the wall. It had broken his heart to see his precious little girl so upset, and at his hand. He replayed the past several days in his mind. He had spotted Katie longing for the doll and was sure if he could somehow come up with the money for it, he might coax a smile out of her solemn expression. That's all he wished for, just a little smile. Later that day, he had struck a deal with Loren. The storekeeper had agreed to allow Sully to pay for the gift in three installments over a period of a few months, just what he needed to afford it.

Sully thought he'd done everything right. He'd brought it to Katie's room and very gently impelled her to open it. When she silently refused, he hadn't protested. He wasn't going to force her. As he left, he had imagined her opening it in private, the surprise on her face when she met the eyes of the exquisite doll. She would run to Michaela to show her the gift, and maybe the child would have paused to glance at her father. Maybe, just maybe, she would have let him give her a gentle hug. He had only dared to hope she might utter his name.

Instead, his hopes had been shattered along with the beautiful porcelain doll. Discouraged, he shuffled his feet as he waited for his wife to come out of the room.

At last, the door opened, revealing a wearied Michaela.

"She all right?" Sully immediately questioned, grasping her arm.

She nodded. "She will be. She's sleeping."

"Then she didn't cut herself or anythin'?" he pressed. "I saw all that porcelain and I..."

"She wasn't hurt, Sully," Michaela reassured him. "Physically she's fine."

Sully breathed a sigh. "Michaela...I...I don't know what to say." He paced a few steps away. "I wasn't trying to buy her off, I wasn't, I just thought...I thought it would help. She just had the biggest eyes for that and I got to thinkin' of her being five years old and me missin' out on so much of her life. I want her to know how sorry I am."

"Sully, Katie knows you're sorry," she assured him. "She told me."

"She did?" he whispered.

Michaela nodded. "I realize she's upset, but you put so much into that gift, not to mention the cost. I should tell her tomorrow she needs to apologize to you, and you and I should discuss some sort of punishment."

He let out his breath. "No, don't do that."

"But, Sully-"

"Ya think that's gonna change anythin'? Forcin' her ain't gonna help," he insisted. "It's just gonna make her hate her ma, too, and I couldn't stand that ... Michaela, I ... I don't know how much longer I can keep this up." He felt her hand on his back, caressing it comfortingly.

"We're both in this together. We'll just keep loving her," she whispered. She circled around him, drawing him into her arms in a tight embrace. "She can shut out all else, but she can't stop our love. And that's what she needs most from us right now."

He swallowed hard, closing his eyes as he wrapped his arms around Michaela's waist. She smelled wonderful. She felt wonderful. He had missed holding her. "If you ain't givin' up then I ain't either. We'll keep tryin'. Both of us."

Michaela felt her body warm as Sully's breath rustled the wisps of hair at her cheek. She had found herself just as distraught as her husband over Katie's upset, and had longed for someone to turn to. It felt so gratifying to finally face something together. They hadn't raised their voices or grown short-tempered. For once, a sort of truce had been reached. At first, she thought his lips had brushed her temple simply by accident, and perhaps they had, but then slowly, he made a trail of tender kisses across her cheek. He paused to look at her, his eyes brimming with passion, then claimed her lips in a gradual, warm kiss.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered, pressing his forehead to hers as they caught their breaths.

"Oh. I love you," Michaela found herself choking out. He cupped her cheek in his hand and leaned in once more for a deeper kiss. A moment later, she opened her eyes, took a stiff breath and backed away from his embrace. "I should get to bed. It's been a long day."

"...Yeah, me too."

She cleared her throat. "Are you warm enough downstairs? I have several blankets in the cabi-"

He shook his head. "I'm fine. I'll uh, I'll see ya in the morning."

"Yes. Goodnight." She turned for the bedroom, her hand pausing on the doorknob.

"Goodnight, Michaela," he whispered back.

& & &

&Sully didn't know how long he had been running. Hours, at least. Ever since he had pulled his canoe to shore and he and the other prisoners had gone their separate ways, he had been running. He was out of the desert now and on a small trapper's path in cool, dry woods. Jack had given him a thin but clean button-down shirt and a pair of patched trousers, but now they were damp with perspiration and soiled with mud and sand.

He kept the sinking sun at his back, not sure exactly where he was, only knowing he had to keep going east, trusting he would come to a town eventually and would be better able to get his bearings.

Beyond exhaustion, he at last he came to a stop. He lowered his head and rested his hands on his knees, fighting for air. After awhile, a small smile came to his face. He was going home to Katie and Brian. He was going home to &Michaela&. He could hardly believe he had finally escaped and would have his wife back in his arms in a matter of days. Nothing could stop him now.

He fell to his knees, too exhausted to think about gathering food or building a fire. He removed from his boot a small hunting knife Jack had left him in the canoe. The knife had belonged to the old man, Sully was sure of it. Perhaps he had been given it as a boy and had kept it all these years, only to pass it along to an accused murderer. Jack had never asked questions of the quiet prisoner, but had simply been his friend. Sully would always remember his selfless kindness and knew he would be forever indebted to him.

He squatted down and piled together a makeshift bed of fallen leaves, then stretched out on his back with a relieved sigh. He turned on his side and closed his eyes, the knife clutched securely in his fist. He wasn't in the clear just yet. He had to make it home first. Should a guard or bounty hunter come across him, he wanted to be prepared.

Sully knew he was capable of slaughter with the small knife, if only it meant he wouldn't be dragged back to the unbearable prison again...if only it meant he would soon be with Michaela again.&

Michaela padded quietly downstairs, mindful the entire household was still asleep. She wanted to be up first and making breakfast for the family before anyone stirred. All of Sully's help around the house and with the children was so thoughtful. She had decided it was time he sleep in and she surprise him.

She glanced at the dying fire in the sitting room. Sully was curled up beside it, sound asleep, one arm tucked under his head. She rubbed her arms of the chilly morning air. He needed a blanket, as much as he always insisted he was fine. She tiptoed across the room to the cabinet, opened it and found a warm white quilt she had crocheted her first winter in Colorado. Carefully she made her way to the fire and crouched beside her husband. He was resting so peacefully, his lips slightly parted, chest slowly heaving up and down. She thought he looked even more like their son when he slept.

After watching him for a moment, she let out a quiet sigh and carefully spread the blanket over him, pulling it snuggly up to his shoulders. He stirred a little and she held her breath until he quieted. When she was sure he was asleep again, she reached down and tenderly smoothed a lock of hair from his brow.

Sully's eyes snapped open. Within a split second, he rose to his knees and pinned Michaela to the floor. Another second passed and he had the blade of his tomahawk a fraction of an inch from her throat. She let out a cry of panic, her eyes widening, afraid to look away, even move. He clenched his teeth, brow narrowed, a vehemence flickering in his eyes like Michaela had never seen before.

Sully stared back, panting, his knuckles white as he gripped the tomahawk harder.

Bravely, Michaela raised trembling hands to Sully's flexed arm. She squeezed it gingerly, acutely conscious of the cool blade of the tomahawk grazing her skin. "Sully ... It's me," she finally choked out. She watched his face darken as he struggled to sort the demons in his head and link back with reality. "Sully, please," she said tearfully. "Let me go. I'm frightened. Please, you're frightening me."

He keep his eyes on hers for a moment longer, then suddenly fell back to his side, letting out a long breath.

Michaela sat up slowly. "I-I was j-just getting you a blanket," she whispered, voice unsteady. "I thought you might be-might be cold down here."

He placed his tomahawk at his side, watching it intently for a long moment. Finally, he stood up.

Michaela followed, wanting to take his hands but afraid to touch him again. "What happened?" she asked, slowly regaining her composure. "You didn't act like you recognized me. Sully. I was just getting you a blanket..."

"...I'm sorry," he murmured, avoiding her eyes.

"What happened?" she pressed. "Was it a nightmare? Look at me. You can tell me. Please, look at me."

He turned away and grasped the ledge of the fireplace, shaking his head. It seemed the harder he tried to forget about the prison, the stronger the memories became. He'd been having terrifying dreams for weeks now, only this time, Michaela had caught him. He turned back to her, eyes suddenly filling with tears. "I'm sorry. Oh, Michaela. I'm so sorry." He took her in his arms, rocking her.

"You frightened me," she whispered, closing her eyes and holding on tight. "Oh."

"I know. Shh," he whispered. "It's over. That won't ever happen again. I love ya, Michaela. I don't ever wanna hurt ya. I'm so sorry." He held her tighter, determined she not see the tears in his eyes. "It's over."

& & &

Michaela opened the front door, one hand cradling a basket brimming with fresh vegetables. She shut the door behind her with her foot and placed the basket and her medical bag on the dining room table.

"Ma," Brian croaked, stepping out of the kitchen, Sully behind him. "You're back early."

"Yes. Things were slow..." Michaela turned around, her eyes falling on the kitchen table behind him, where several crates filled with sacks of flour, salt, oatmeal, and other dry foods had been laid open. She removed her coat and hung it on the rack, all the while her eyes on the crates. "Things were slowing down and I thought I'd close early and come home to start supper," she began, walking into the kitchen. "I thought I would make stew and biscuits."

Brian approached his mother tentatively. "That sounds good. Uh, Katie and B. are upstairs nappin'. They were real good today."

"Do you want to explain to me what all this is?" she replied, gesturing at the crates.

Brian glanced at his father, who remained silent and unmoving. "This food?" he murmured.

"Yes, this food," Michaela said impatiently.

He cleared his throat. "Well, it's for, uh, well-the Indians over at the Reservation. Ma, ya always say they never have enough to eat, that the rations from the army aren't enough, that that's a big reason why they get sick so much."

"You're giving this to the Indians?" she questioned, reaching into a crate and pulling out a slap of jerky. "I don't understand. Where on earth did you get it all?"

"From the mercantile. Pa and I both chip in," Brian explained. "Sometimes Mr. Bray'll even cut us a deal. We've been doin' this for a long time. It's always worked out."

"How long is a long time?" she questioned.

"I s'pose ... since Pa's been home," he admitted, "but Ma, it's nothin' to be worryin' about, really. I ride Taffy to the front like I'm alone, and tell the soldiers I wanna visit Cloud Dancing, and while they're busy takin' me to him Pa brings the wagon 'round back and unloads the crates. None of the soldiers know a thing."

"They don't know a thing," she murmured, placing the jerky back in the crate.

Brian gently took her arm. "We didn't wanna worry ya. We knew ya would worry if ya knew. We're real careful."

"How long have Katie and Byron been napping?" she asked softly.

He glanced upstairs. "I'm not sure. Less than an hour."

"Why don't you go upstairs and rouse them," she instructed. "If they sleep too long we'll never be able to get them to bed tonight."

"... Ma, it's been worth it," he told her, "seeing how much better some of them are doin' now that they have more to eat, 'specially the kids. I want to help 'em out. This was my choice."

"Go upstairs, Brian," she replied.

He nodded obediently, spinning around quickly and padding up the staircase.

Michaela watched him go, and then turned to face Sully. "I can't believe this," she began calmly. "It's ... incomprehensible. This is what you do with our children when I leave you alone with them? Risk their lives?"

"Don't blow it outta proportion," he murmured. "We ain't in any danger. Nobody's gonna find out."

"And if they do?" she challenged. "When you're sent back to prison are we supposed to wait another four years, or perhaps eight this time?"

He sighed. "Michaela, they won't find out. I've made sure of that. Even if they did, they can't do anythin' more than give us a warnin', a slap on the wrist. We ain't helpin' anybody escape. We're just givin' 'em a little extra food."

"But it's you, Sully," she contended. "You're on uncertain terms with the army. They won't be lenient with you. I just can't imagine how they might react, what they could do to you. And our son! How could you expose him to such danger?"

Sully stepped toward her, resting his hand on the back of a chair. "Brian's not a little boy. He's old enough to think for himself, to make his own decisions, to decide what's right for himself."

"He's barely seventeen and he's still my child," she replied softly. "Our child, Sully, to set a good example for. Instead of teaching him to obey the law you teach him how to get around it!"

"I teach him to stand up for what he believes," Sully retorted. "That's part of growin' up, if you'll ever let him." He inhaled edgily. "This is why we didn't tell ya. We knew ya'd be like this when ya don't need to worry in the first place."

"Well, why can't you just ask the army?" Michaela suggested weakly. "It's not as if you're supplying them with weapons. It's only food. You could ask if they might let you bring it in under their supervision."

"Ya think the army's ever gonna agree to that?" Sully responded. "This is the only way, Michaela."

"Well, I don't understand why everything has to be done behind my back," she said. "I thought we were raising our children together, making decisions for them together. Making decision for &us& together."

Sully turned to look out the window, sensing her frustration ran deeper than the situation at hand. The last time he had kept something from her, it had ended with him in prison and she believing he had been killed. "Maybe we should have told ya," he admitted. "We just didn't want ya upset, that's all. Everythin's fine."

She laid her hand gently on his back. "Sully, I know maintaining ties with the Indians is important to you, but we also have a family we have to think about. Everything we do effects our family. I want things to be better for Cloud Dancing just as much as you ... but not if it jeopardizes the safety of our family. Not if it means ... Sully, I can't help but think of ..."

He turned and took her hand, looking her in the eyes. "I won't ever get into a mess like that again, I promise." He reached up to brush her hair back. "Do ya know how many times I wished I hadn't gotten so involved? There were other ways to help the Indians that I couldn't see back then, ways that would have been better for you and the kids, our family. I had four years to think about it, and I know now I risked too much, helpin' 'em escape like I did. I paid a big price for it... we all did."

She swallowed hard, suppressing tears.

"But I'm different now," he assured her. "This is different, Michaela. I know ya don't like it, and I'm sorry about that, but we ain't gonna stop. Cloud Dancin' counts on us bringin' food for his people every week, and we can't let him down."

She stepped back, folding her hands. "...All right. Do what you want. But I won't approve of it. I won't support it ..."

"Brian's decided for himself it's worth the risk this time," he replied. "He won't apologize for that ... and I won't either."

to be continued...


	49. Chapter 62

Chapter Sixty-two

"You're goin', ain't ya, Ma? You and Sully?" Brian pressed, removing five glasses from the cabinet and setting them around the table.

"I suppose," Michaela replied reluctantly. She stood behind Katie, who was on a stool in front of the stove, and helped the child stir the soup.

"Goin' where?" Sully called as he came in the front door, Byron on his shoulders.

"The Spring Festival," Brian explained. "We had it last year and everybody liked it so much we're gonna do it again. There's gonna be lots of food and dancin' and us older kids are puttin' on some scenes from Shakespeare."

"It's mostly for the children, Sully," Michaela added, "so the whole town can see all that they've been accomplishing. They put it together practically on their own."

"It sounds like fun," Sully replied. He lifted Byron over his head, put him on his feet and helped him remove his coat, hat and mittens.

"I can go, too, Sull-wee?" the little boy asked, cheeks flushed from the cold.

"Course ya can," he said. "We'll all go." He hung the child's damp winter apparel on the rack beside the door and then led him over to the sitting room. "You get yourself warm by the fire. I'll go see what your ma has cookin'."

"All right," Byron agreed, climbing up onto one of the wingback chairs and rubbing his hands together.

Sully came behind Michaela and gently kissed her cheek, determined not to let the awkwardness between them stop him. "Smells good."

She smiled tenderly. "Thank you. Katie's been a wonderful helper, right sweetheart?"

Katie tilted her head back to meet her mother's eyes with a shy grin.

"How was sledding?" Michaela asked.

Sully chuckled. "Byron would have stayed at that hill all night if I hadn't dragged him home for supper."

"He was warm enough, wasn't he?" Michaela questioned. "He wasn't sniffling or sneezing?"

Sully shrugged. "I don't know. I don't think so. He was bundled up."

"Sully, you have to pay attention," she told him gently. "You have to bring him home right away if he starts sniffling. It's a sign he could be beginning an attack. Please, try to think about these things."

Sully backed away, not wanting to start another argument. "All right," he said quietly. He cleared his throat. "Katie, ya would have had fun with us. We found a real good hill. Maybe next time."

Michaela patted the little girl's back. "Katie loves to sled, especially on the steepest hills. She's very adventurous."

Sully smiled. "I figured ya might be, Kates."

Michaela removed the spoon from the pot and set it on the counter. "Sully, would you mind bringing up a few jars of peaches from the root cellar? We'll have a special treat for supper tonight."

"Sure," he agreed.

"Close the door after you," she said. "I don't want the children going near and falling."

"I will." He lit a candle from the table, slid the throw rug away from the cellar door and climbed down inside the cool, dark pit, swinging the door shut.

He placed the candle on the ground and moved aside several jars of pickles, pears and beets, looking for the peaches. At last, he spotted them on the bottom shelf of the wooden rack. Pleased, he squatted to his knees, inadvertently knocking over the candle with the toe of his boot. He was immediately paralyzed by the instant blackness ...

&"Git up, boy," a deep voice barked, kicking him squarely in the gut. "I says...git up!"

Sully lay motionless on his side, squinting hard through swollen eyes. He was barely able to make out the fuzzy images of two burly prison guards, one standing beside him, the other with a rifle stationed back by the door. He raised his hand to his cheek, the chains heavy and rusty, pressing his fingers to a sticky stream of blood from his brow. He could barely remember the past twelve hours. All he knew was that he had been caught, brought to the isolation cell, and beaten. Beaten bad. Michaela would say he had a concussion, he thought. He closed his eyes, picturing his wife in his mind. He could almost feel her tender hands in his, encouraging him to keep fighting, keep going, come home to her. "Michaela," he murmured.

"What's that? That your woman?" the guard demanded. "Speak up, boy!" He spat tobacco juice to the side, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Hell, what do I care. Brought ya some grub." He threw a tin plate of bread and gravy on the ground. It spilled to the dust as the guard let out a hearty laugh. "Eat up!"

"Sir...ya just ruined his meal, sir," the guard with the rifle spoke up timidly.

"Shut your trap, Fergus," the guard shot back.

Sully crossed his arms over his chest, tensing. He would scrape every morsel of the meager supper off the ground once the men left, but he wouldn't do it in front of them. He would rather be beaten unconscious again before he lost his dignity to these guards.

His patience wearing, the guard fell to his knees and grabbed Sully by the shirt collar, pulling him to eye level. "You listen to me, two-o-four," he growled. "You just keep on makin' my job hell, and I'll just keep on makin' your life hell. Ya stinkin' murderer. You're never gonna see that whore of yours again, I'll see to that."

Sully opened his eyes, breathing deeply, and spat squarely in the guard's face.

"Bastard!" the guard breathed, throwing Sully to the ground. He shook his head, wiping his face with a handkerchief. "Fergus, give me your rifle!"

"Ya-ya ain't gonna shoot 'im, are ya, sir?" the young man questioned, reluctantly handing over the weapon.

"I have half a mind to," the guard grumbled. He laughed, raising the butt of the rifle. "Stop tremblin', kid. I ain't gonna shoot 'im...I'm just gonna teach 'im a lesson."&

Sully shut his eyes, shaking his head of the agonizing memory. He staggered to the ladder and climbed up as quickly as he could, swinging open the door to the cellar and boosting himself out of it. He couldn't breathe. Without bothering to shut the door, he hurried out to the porch.

"Where ya goin', Pa?" Brian asked, perplexed.

"Sully?" Michaela called. She lifted Katie from the stool and sat her at the kitchen table. "Brian, watch the soup for me, please." She untied her apron and put it across the back of Katie's chair, then grabbed both her coat and Sully's and followed him outside. She spotted him walking briskly toward the woods and jogged to catch up to him. "Sully, wait!"

Much to her relief he slowed his steps, coming to a stop at the north boundary of their fence.

She laid his jacket over his shoulders. "Are you all right? What happened to the peaches?"

"The candle went out...I..." He rested his fists on the fence. "I don't know."

She studied him carefully, standing beside him. "...Yes, you do. What?"

He looked away, pursing his lips. "I guess it...It was so dark in there," he admitted softly. "It reminded me of..."

"Of what?" she pressed. "Sully, I'm here. There's nothing you can't tell me." She gently caressed his arm. "Was it very dark in prison? Did it make you think of it?"

He pulled away. "No, that ain't it."

"Sully, you have to talk about it," she said passionately. "You went through something traumatic, what, I have little idea. You can't keep it bottled inside."

"There ain't nothin' to say," he retorted.

"I don't think you really believe that," she insisted.

"It's over, Michaela!" he replied, abruptly turning to face her. "These past four years, they're over, understand? Let's get back inside. Supper's almost ready, ain't it?" Without waiting for a response, he made for the house, walking briskly and not turning back.

Michaela rested against the fence, letting out a sigh. The more she encouraged Sully to talk about the past, the harder he resisted. He was so willing to forget everything, whereas she felt it would be better to accept and work through their troubles. She certainly wasn't prepared to deny her entire life with Cal as if it had never happened. They could work through their past together, listen to and help one another. But Sully didn't want to have anything to do with that. Frustrated, she pressed her hands to her face. She wasn't going to cry. She'd had enough of that. She was going to take a stiff breath, press on and make the marriage work. Somehow, they would make it work.

& & &

Sully skillfully ran the blade of his knife down the smooth cedar, giving the figurine he was carving a few finishing touches. Byron sat in his lap, looking on in admiration. Katie wandered nearby, picking flowers growing along the creek bed. She had been given no choice but to tag along with Byron and Sully on the outing, what with Mama on house calls and Brian in town helping out at the Gazette. So far, however, the afternoon hadn't been as bad as she had imagined. Father and son were so caught up in each other she was free to play alone, relatively undisturbed, which was exactly what she preferred.

"What do ya think?" Sully asked, holding out the spotted adolescent deer in front of him and turning it from side to side.

"A deer!" Byron announced, running his fingers down its smooth back.

Sully put it in his hands. "I'm glad you see it, too," he said with a smile. "I haven't carved anything in a long time. Was afraid I might be a little rusty."

Byron tilted his head back to look at him. "For me?" he asked hopefully, squeezing the figurine in his hands.

"Yep. Just for you." Sully flipped his knife around with one hand and slid it securely back in the pouch on his belt.

"Katie, look what Sull-wee made me!" Byron called, holding out the object with an exultant grin. "Look!"

Katie stood up from her squat, a bundle of posies in one hand, and gave the figurine a fleeting glance. She quickly tried to hide her intrigue, turning her attention back to the creek and sticking the toe of her boot in the water experimentally.

"Ain't he pretty?" Bryon shouted, proudly hugging the deer to his chest. He wiggled swiftly in Sully's arms to face him, struck by an idea. "Sull-wee, make Katie a deer, too!" He bounced the little animal in his lap. "Come on. Make another one for Katie."

Sully hesitated, glancing at his daughter. "I don't know if she really wants that, Byron."

"Yes she does," he insisted. "Now make a girl this time and then we both got one. Please?"

He melted at his son's earnestness. "Well, I'll make another I guess, but it's gonna be up to Katie if she wants it, all right?"

"All right," he immediately agreed, watching Sully reach for another slab of wood from the small pile beside him.

"Hey, I wonder if she might want somethin' different," Sully remarked, bracing the wood on one knee. "What do you think, son? Maybe a bird, or-?" A startled, quick scream stopped him mid-sentence. He dropped the wood and rose to his feet in a heartbeat, placing Byron at his side. "Katie!" he called.

The little girl was standing beside the creek, clutching her lower arm, hot tears bursting forth from squinted eyes and high-pitched cries coming forth in short bursts. Sully was immediately at her side, pulling her hand away, brow furrowed.

"Kates, what is it?" he implored. "What happened?" He ran his fingers down her arm, darting his eyes over it as he looked for anything amiss. "What?" he went on pressingly. "What hurts, sweet girl? Your arm? Tell me, please."

Byron caught up to the two, mouth agape, and instinctively wrapped his arms protectively around his sister's waist. "She got hurt, Sull-wee!" he explained over her distressed screams.

"I know," Sully said, pausing to caress his hair. "We'll get her good as new." He examined her arm again, suddenly noticing a small, telltale blotchy red mark just above her wrist. "Oh, Kates. Was it a bee? Did a bee sting ya?"

She drew in her breath shakily, hiccupping, and gave a nod, so quick Sully nearly missed it. Relieved, he led her to sit on the ground and squatted beside her. "Oh, don't cry. It's all right. It's gonna feel better in no time." He stuck his fingers into a patch of nearby mud, rubbing together a wet paste in his fingers. "You know that I got just the cure for this? Not even your ma knows about this one."

Katie swallowed hard, watching him intently, Byron stroking her uninjured arm comfortingly.

Sully turned back to the two, taking her arm in one hand. "We'll put a little of this on, and it'll bring the stinger right out."

Katie scrunched up her nose as he tenderly smoothed the mud onto the wound. Byron reached across her and touched his fingers to it curiously. "Ew, it's cold!" he said.

"Feel good?" Sully asked.

Katie wiped her free hand across her drying tears, keeping her eyes on the mud.

"It feels good I think, Sull-wee," Byron spoke up helpfully.

"Good." Sully squeezed the little girl's shoulder reassuringly, withdrawing his hand and glancing down at his shirt. He pulled at one of the tails, ripping off a piece of fabric and then tying it around her arm. "There ya go. All set." He glanced around them. "Ya wanna go home now?"

She nodded immediately, rising to her feet.

"Uh-oh, Sull-wee," Byron spoke up, shifting his feet uncomfortably.

"What's the matter?" Sully asked, eyeing him questioningly.

He pulled at one of the buttons on his britches, eyebrows raised. "Uh-oh."

"Uh-oh what?" Sully pressed.

"I gotta go potty," he said decidedly. "Don't think I can hold it 'til we get home."

Sully instantly laughed and tousled his hair. "Well, go over there behind those trees somewhere. We'll wait for ya."

His eyes widened as he eyed a row of pine trees a few paces away. His mother had certainly never suggested such a thing. Then again, she would have made sure to have him take care of his business before he left for an afternoon in the woods in the first place. "Over there?"

"Sure," Sully replied. "That's what we gotta do when we're in the woods and that ... happens." He laughed again. "Go on. It's all right."

A tiny giggle escaped Katie's lips as she watched her brother scurry for the trees, one hand tugging at his suspenders. She tittered harder, covering her mouth. Sully gazed down and watched her, breath held, not sure he had ever seen her laugh before. He raised his hand and briefly smoothed back her hair, then quickly withdrew, afraid of pushing too much and ending the beautiful sound of her giggles.

& & &

"Hey, Sull-wee? What ya doing in there?" Byron called, opening the barn door and peeking inside.

Sully turned from the milking stool, meeting his son's curious eyes. The little boy was in his stocking feet and still in his nightshift, his hair tousled from sleep. "Hey, Byron. I'm just doin' some chores. You're up early."

"Can I come in?" Byron asked hopefully. It had been a long time since he had last been in the barn. He could barely remember what it looked like inside.

Sully chuckled. "Sure ya can. Why not?"

Byron scurried in with a giggle. Sully embraced him warmly, kissing his forehead and sitting him on his knee. "Mornin', son."

"You milkin' the cow?" he replied.

"Yep. All of ya can have milk in your cereal this mornin'. That sound good?" He reached his hands forward and grasped the cow's udders, applying firm pressure as the milk sprayed into the bucket.

"You are good at this," Byron remarked after a minute.

"Ya wanna give it a try?" Sully asked.

Byron hesitated, looking up at the cow's bulging belly. "I don't know how."

"I'll teach ya," he said. "Here, watch. Ya gotta pinch off the top with your thumb, see? Just like this, real tight now..."

Byron stared at the scars around his father's wrists, suddenly not paying attention to his words.

"Then ya...Byron? Ya listenin'?"

He pointed at Sully's wrist. "What's wrong, Sull-wee? Do ya got a boo-boo?"

Sully cleared his throat, his hands growing limp. "...Well, yeah, I guess."

"How'd ya get that? Did ya fall? Did the door shut on ya? The door shut on my finger once and I cried but Mama made it better 'cause she's a docta."

He kissed his head. "They're scars. They've healed over. They don't hurt no more. Don't worry about it, all right?" He put his hands on his knees.

"How'd those get there?" Byron asked.

"Son ..." Sully protested.

Byron squeezed his eyes shut and let out a sudden, tiny sneeze.

"Oh. Ya all right?" Sully asked, patting his back.

"How come you got boo-boos there?" Byron pressed, rubbing his nose. "Mama can kiss 'em and make 'em better maybe."

Sully caressed his arm as he recalled the day before in the root cellar when the grisly memory of the prison had arisen. He didn't want to revisit it again, yet Byron's innocent questioning was so candid and non-threatening. Suddenly, he felt as if there was no one he couldn't be more truthful with than his son. He felt warm and protected with the child in his arms. "...You know I was in prison, locked up for somethin' I didn't do."

"Far, far away," Byron said.

"That's right. I kept thinkin' about all of ya back at home and missin' ya so much. I wanted to get out of there so bad and come home to ya. I was foolish and I tried to escape without really plannin' out the best way to do that." He took a deep breath. "The guards at the prison-they see that everybody stays behind the bars where they're supposed to be-they came after me right away."

Byron drew in his breath. "They were fast? Did they catched ya?"

"Yeah, they did." He held the little boy tight against his chest.

"Did ya cry?"

"I did I s'pose, a little bit," he told him. "They took me back to the prison and they...they punished me."

"They made ya have time out?" Byron questioned. He sniffled, rubbing his nose once more.

His eyes grew unfocused at the painful memory. "In a way I s'pose. They put me in a room with no windows all by myself. Nobody came 'round except to bring me my meals. They locked real heavy chains on my hands and feet, too, so I wouldn't try to escape again." He cupped his wrist in one hand. "Those chains, they were real tight. I'd try an' wiggle 'em looser, but that just made me bleed. I'd get sores on my wrists and ankles, and they'd take ages to heal. So...that's why I got the scars. From the chains."

"But they don't hurt no more."

"Naw, they don't hurt," Sully assured him.

"That's good," Byron replied.

He caressed the child's shoulder. "Yeah." He leaned forward and took the udders in his hands. "Almost done here and then we'll go back inside and have some breakfast, how's that?"

"Sully!" Michaela called. "Are you in here?" The door burst open revealing a slightly distraught Michaela. "Sully, I went to wake the children and Brynie's not in his bed. Do you know where he could b-" She paused, eyes widening.

Sully turned from the milking with a soft smile. "He's fine, Michaela," he replied. "He's been right here with me all along."

"Byron Sully!" Michaela exclaimed, rushing to her son.

The little boy smiled. "Mornin', Mama. You up early." He let out another sudden sneeze.

She took him from Sully's lap, pressing the little boy's head to her shoulder. "Sully, what on earth is he doing in here? You know he's not supposed to go near the barn!"

"What do ya mean?" he replied, standing up. "Why not?"

She turned swiftly, opening the door and heading back to the house. "Are you all right, sweetheart? What were you thinking? Remember what we talked about, about the hay and the animals and your asthma? It's so you'll feel better, darling, not because we want to keep you from having fun."

"Sull-wee was teachin' me milking," he told her simply. "I wanna go back. I wanna go back, Mama. Sull-wee says I can come in!"

"You know better than this, Byron," she scolded. "Just because Sully says so doesn't mean it's the right thing to do." She bit her lip. "He doesn't know you like Mama does, do you understand?"

"Michaela!" Sully called, catching up to the two. "Please, he didn't do anythin'. I didn't know. Don't blame him."

"I'm not blaming him." She turned reluctantly. "Apparently you're the one responsible. Do you have any idea how to look after a four-year-old little boy? I turn my back for one minute and you've practically put his life on the line."

"I don't see what all the fuss is about," he retorted. "We were just gonna finish the milkin' and come back inside."

"No, you wouldn't understand," she answered. "You haven't seen his worst attacks. His air passages constrict until he can't even speak anymore. He turns blue in the face. He's passed out for minutes at a time!"

Byron whimpered in his mother's arms, clutching her blouse sleeve.

"Michaela ... please," Sully warned softly.

"No fightin', Mama," Byron sniveled. "Pease, no fightin'."

"If you had taken the time to ask about your own son, I might have told you all this before," Michaela explained, trying to remain calm.

"It don't matter no more," he said. "It's in the past."

"How can you say that?" she exclaimed. "Do you have any idea how much he's been through? Continues to be put through? It's not in the past, it's still happening, and you don't even care!" She drew in her breath. She knew her words were inflicting grave wounds that would not heal easily, but found herself unable to bite her tongue. Sully loved his son deeply, there was no question about that, yet she couldn't understand why he continued to want nothing to do with anything in the past.

"I do care!" he shouted. "Don't put words in my mouth and don't act like ya know what I'm thinkin'!"

"You're right, I don't know what you're thinking, Sully," she responded bitterly. "You never speak to me, so how I am supposed to have the faintest idea?"

"&You& never speak to &me&," he replied, pointing his finger at her. "You are why I don't have a clue about my son. And no, I guess I haven't done so good lookin' after him. They didn't teach us much about bein' a father in prison!"

"No!" Byron cried, gasping for air. "No more yellin'! Sull-wee! Sull-wee, no!"

to be continued...


	50. Chapter 63

Chapter Sixty-three

"It's all right. It's all right," Sully soothed. He supported Byron's back and rubbed his chest as the little boy struggled to inhale. "Mama's gettin' her bag and then she's gonna come right back an' help ya."

"You can't...can't fight no more with Mama," Byron told him, face flushed.

"Byron ... we were just workin' some things out. I'm sorry. I know it ain't no fun to listen to. Shh, don't talk. Just breathe."

"Ya can't yell," he insisted. "That ... that's not nice. Promise ... no more."

"Byron-"

"Papa, ya gotta! Ya gotta promise," he insisted. "Papa, please."

Sully caressed his son's cheek. "Papa," he whispered. "Ya called me Papa."

Byron gave him a soft smile, his chest heaving.

"I promise," Sully said, taking his hand. "We'll try not t' fight."

"... And say you're sorry and pick 'er pwetty flowers?" Byron added.

Sully hesitated. "... That, too."

Byron sighed, his gasps for air suddenly slowing. "Good."

"No more talkin' now," Sully told him. "Breathe short breaths, ain't that what your ma tells ya?" Sully drew him from the porch steps into his lap, laying his back against his chest. "You take it easy. You're gonna be fine."

Michaela came rushing out onto the porch, clutching her medical bag, Brian and Katie right behind her. She sat beside Sully and reached in the bag for her chloroform.

"He's doin' better, Michaela," Sully said hopefully.

She gazed at their son. "You're right, he's breathing more normally," she said, surprised. "It appears the attack is subsiding on its own." She placed the chloroform back in the bag and smoothed damp hair from Byron's brow. "How do you feel, sweetheart?" She found her stethoscope and pressed it to his chest. "Can you try some deeper breaths for me now?"

He let out a tiny whimper, shaking his head. "Mama."

"Oh." Michaela placed her stethoscope around her neck and drew him into her arms, cuddling him close. "Shh, I know. It's frightening, isn't it? Mama's here."

"I sorry. I won't go in the barn again," Byron spoke up.

"No, son, that was my fault," Sully said immediately.

Michaela glanced at her husband, then at Byron's tear-streaked face, sighing. "No, it was just a misunderstanding. No one's at fault." She touched his cheek. "You got through the attack on your own without any medicine, Brynie. Did Sully talk you through it? See, we can accomplish anything if we're determined enough."

Sully breathed a sigh. He felt terrible about the attack, but Michaela's words served to reassure him. She had even acknowledged his role in guiding their son back to health.

"Is he gonna be all right, Ma?" Brian spoke up tentatively, Katie clutching his hand.

Michaela stood up, placing the little boy over her shoulder and rubbing his back. "He'll be fine now, Brian. Take your sister back inside, all right? Continue getting ready for school."

Reluctantly, the two older children traipsed back to the kitchen to finish their breakfast.

"I think we'd better rest for a little bit, Byron," Michaela said. "I'll bring you breakfast in bed, how's that?" She made for the door, and then paused, turning back to Sully. "Um, perhaps I should take him with me to work today."

Sully nodded, disappointed, but not sure if he trusted himself to care for the child anymore.

"Just-just to monitor him," Michaela explained softly.

"That's a good idea," he said. "Take him."

"But I wanna stay here with Papa," Byron protested.

Michaela paused, surprised. "...Only for today, Byron."

"No, I don't wanna go," he whined.

"Mama has a lot of appointments today, otherwise I'd stay home with you," she said. "... Perhaps if things go well I can make it a short day."

"It's not gonna be any fun!" Byron insisted. "Papa and me have lots of fun &here&." He looked to his father for support. "Tell 'er. Tell Mama I can stay here with you."

"No, you go with your ma this time, Byron," Sully said gently. "She knows what's best for ya."

Sighing, Byron rested his head against Michaela's shoulder. "It's not gonna be no fun," he grumbled.

Michaela swallowed hard. Byron had always preferred her over all else, and she had come to take it for granted. Now it seemed all he wanted was Sully, and although she was glad father and son were getting along so well, she wanted to be a part of it, too, and couldn't help but continue to feel left out. "Tomorrow you can stay with Papa if that's what you want," she told him, voice unsteady. "Come on, let's get you up to bed."

& & &

Brow fixed in concentration, Michaela peered through her ophthalmoscope at the reverend's eyes.

"How do they look, Dr. Mike?" the reverend asked, chin resting in the brace.

"Shh, hold still please," she instructed.

"Sorry," he whispered with a small grin.

At last, she lifted her head and blew out the candle. "Things continue to appear stationary," she told him. "You can sit back now."

The reverend shifted in his chair, rubbing his neck. "I s'pose that's good news. No better, but no worse."

"Exactly." Michaela gave him a hand down from the table. "How about you come by again in six months for another check-up?" She circled the table to the coat rack, casting an eye at Byron, boosted atop a thick medical textbook on her desk chair, happily painting with a set of watercolors he had received for his last birthday.

The reverend reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a few bills. "This cover it?"

"Yes, thank you," she replied, placing the cash in her apron pocket and handing him his coat.

The reverend slipped into the coat and picked up his walking stick, resting next to the door. "G'bye, Byron," he called.

The little boy raised his head, waving with his free hand. "Bye-bye, Rev'and. Come back again."

He smiled. "I will."

Michaela opened the door and took the reverend's arm. "I'll see you out."

"It was nice to have you and Sully in church last Sunday, Dr. Mike," he remarked.

"It was nice to go as a family," Michaela replied softly, pulling the door shut after them.

"How are things between you two?" he asked. "Well I hope."

"... Not so well actually I'm afraid."

"Oh? Why's that?"

"It's just ... we seem to have such difficulty communicating," she admitted.

He paused, collecting his thoughts. "I imagine after bein' apart for so long-it must be hard, going back to ... well, everything ya shared before."

She stared at her hands, her cheeks warming at the Reverend's unassuming yet accurate probing. "Yes. I don't know what else to do truthfully."

The reverend rested his hands atop his walking stick, thinking a moment. "Would it help if I talked to the both of you? You could come by the church sometime."

"I suppose it might," Michaela admitted.

"Well, stop by whenever you'd like," he offered.

"Thank you, Reverend. I'll mention it to Sully." She opened the door. "Well, I should get back to my son. Have a good afternoon."

"G'day, Dr. Mike," he said, stepping down from the porch.

Michaela went back inside and came behind her desk, pausing to kiss Byron's head. "What are you painting?" she asked.

He pointed at two barely discernable red stick figures. "That's me and that's Papa. He's showin' me deers in the woods."

She averted her eyes, moving to her examination table to pack away the ophthalmoscope. "Where's Mama, Byron? You know she'd like to come along too sometime."

"...Want me to dwaw you, too?" he offered, dipping his brush in some purple paint. "You and Papa can hold hands like you and Cal hold hands."

She smiled faintly. "That would be nice."

He concentrated on his picture for a moment and then suddenly looked up. "Mama? Why was Papa in pwison?"

"Why do you ask that?" Michaela replied, taken off guard.

He shrugged. "Just won-drin'."

She came back to his side, clearing her throat. "Most people that are in prison are criminals-they've been caught committing a crime, such as taking things like money or a horse from someone else, or even hurting someone."

"How come they hurt someone?" he questioned.

She sighed. "Sometimes out of desperation, sometimes we just don't know. But Sully didn't do anything like that. When people commit a crime they go before a judge and if they're found guilty, they're sent to prison. But sometimes the wrong people can be sent to trial and the courts can make a mistake. A judge confused Sully for another person. He thought he took a large amount of money from a bank ... a-and shot and killed another man in the process. But he was very mistaken."

"Why would Papa do that?"

"Papa wouldn't do that, that's right," she assured him. "But just the same the judge made a mistake and said he did, and that's why Papa was sent to prison."

"What's pwison?" Byron asked.

"What's prison?" Michaela echoed. "Oh, Brynie. Why didn't you ask before?" She took a deep breath. "It's a place where people who have been convicted of crimes are locked up to protect the rest of us and to help them learn from their mistakes. It's a little like the jail cell in Matthew's office. Prisons have many, many rows of these cells and people live in them night and day until they've completed their sentence-the amount of time they must stay behind bars."

"Pwison don't sound like much fun," he remarked.

"No, it doesn't," Michaela agreed.

He rested his brush on her desk. "Papa says it was dark in there and he ran away but he got catched and got punished in time out. And there were chains that made him bleeded."

"He told you that?" Michaela questioned, puzzled. Sully was so secretive about his time behind bars, yet suddenly it appeared as if he had quite the talk with their son.

He nodded. "Yep. And I was thinkin' maybe you could kiss his hands 'cause he got bleeded there and gots ... sars."

"Scars," Michaela annunciated.

"Scars," he repeated. "I told Papa you're a docta and maybe can help like ya help the rev'and and his sick eyes."

She strolled to the window, uncertain how to react. "There's nothing I can do for his scars, sweetheart," she told him. "Just as there's little I can do for the Reverend's eyes."

He shook his head disbelievingly. "But you're a docta, Mama. You can fix him."

"There are some things even doctors can't fix. Deep wounds can leave a lasting mark that never fully disappears. The past is always with us, even if it has healed."

He thought over her words, pursing his lips. "But you could still kiss 'em ... couldn't ya?"

She returned to her desk and came behind him, giving him a tight hug. "Yes, you're right. That certainly can't hurt."

"Good," he said. "You be nice, and Papa promised me he'll be nice, and then nobody'll be mad."

She closed her eyes. "I'm glad you're calling Sully 'Papa'," she whispered. "I think he really likes that."

"Ya think?" he questioned.

She kissed his cheek. "Yes. And ... I like it, too."

& & &

Sully leaned against the ledge of the sitting room window, watching Byron play in front of the fire, Wolf at his side. The child had lined up a row of cowboy figurines with tiny leather hats and bright colored shirts and pants. In one hand he gripped a wooden horse proportionate to the size of the men, and was weaving it around them, making dramatic braying sounds combined with giggles.

Sully continued to observe the child's game with a fond grin, folding his arms. He loved simply watching Byron be a little boy. He didn't think he would ever tire of it.

"Sully, come look at Brian's article," Michaela called from one of the wing back chairs, holding out the Gazette to him.

"Aw, Ma, it ain't anything," Brian protested, seated at the dining room table with his history book in front of him.

"No, Brian, it was very well done. Very precise," Michaela insisted. "It's about the Spring Festival, Sully." She handed the paper to him as he unhooked his belt, laid it across the arm of the chair and sat down.

Sully shook open the paper and began reading the fine print, a proud smile on his face.

"Miss Dorothy calls it a ... a brief," Brian said, idly passing his pencil back and forth between his hands. "It's a paragraph or two, usually about somethin' comin' up, well, like festivals."

"I think everybody's gonna wanna come out to the Festival after they pick up this week's Gazette," Sully said. "Ya wrote it up real nice."

"Thanks, Pa." He closed his book and tucked it under his arm. "I'm gonna head upstairs, look over a little more of this in my room before I turn in." He stood up and walked over to his parents, kissing his mother's cheek and hugging his father. "Night, Ma. Night, Pa," he said to each in turn.

"Brian, would you mind checking on Katie for me?" Michaela asked, grasping his arm. "See how she's coming with her reader?"

"Sure," he agreed.

"And perhaps ask her if she'd like to come down?" Michaela added hesitantly.

Sully cleared his throat. "I could play checkers or somethin' with her, maybe. Or whatever she wants."

He licked his lips, nodding. "I'll ask her." He glanced across the room at his brother. "Night, B. Don't stay up too late playin'. You'll tucker your horse out."

Byron looked up, grinning impishly. "'Night, Brian!"

Sully watched Brian disappear upstairs and then turned back to the paper, skimming the headlines. "That article of his was about as good as anything I've read in here," he remarked.

"I think so," Michaela agreed. "With the proper education, college, he could truly refine his talent." She drew in her breath, the thought of Brian leaving home panging her greatly. "That's a long ways off though."

"Yep," Sully murmured, turning the paper over. " ... Michaela? Did you see this? 'Il ... Il Barbiere di ...'"

"'Il Barbiere di Siviglia,'" Michaela read, peering at the advertisement. "I think that's 'The Barber of Seville.'"

"'Andrew Family Opera Company presents the most beloved of all operatic comedies.' Says here they'll be one performance in Manitou, looks like next week."

"Oh, I'd love to see that," she said absently.

"Then let's you and I go. I'll take ya," he replied.

She looked up incredulously. "Sully, we can't."

"Why not?" he said. "Ya said yourself ya'd love to see it."

She hesitated. "Yes, but ... well, for one thing we can't afford it. That and train tickets to Manitou as well? And the children would have school the next morning, I have the clinic ... "

"We could ask Matthew to come here for the evening, stay with the kids. You can close the clinic a few hours early and we'll drive to Manitou." He handed the paper to her. "It looks like this is just a little group of travelin' actors. Tickets can't be that expensive. This ain't Boston, ya know. Don't be expectin' too much."

She smiled shyly. "You'd really like to take us?"

He reached out and took her hand. "I'd be honored ..."

" ... Would you like me to put on some coffee?" Michaela blurted, fearful their steady conversation was coming to an end once again.

"That sounds good," Sully said. He stood up. "Uh, I'll help you."

"All right. Then we can put him to ... b-e-d," she whispered wryly, casting a glance at their rambunctious little boy.

Sully brushed his hand across her back in agreement and followed her into the kitchen. He opened the cupboards and icebox, gathering mugs, spoons, sugar and cream, while Michaela tied her apron and added the measured amount of coffee grounds to the kettle. Sully paused to watch her as she stood over the stove, her shoulders sinking and her eyes growing unfocused after a very long day. Discreetly, she raised her hand up and reached over her shoulder, pressing against the back of her neck with her fingers.

He laid the spoons he was holding on the table and took a step closer. "Tired?"

She shrugged tentatively. "Mm. When Byron spends the day at the clinic there's barely a moment to sit down," she admitted, turning slightly. "I love having him with me of course," she hastened to add. "But sometimes he can be so ... "

"Spirited?" Sully replied with a soft smile.

She nodded, chuckling. "I don't know where all his energy comes from."

He laid one hand on her shoulder, caressing it gently. "His ma and pa I think," he murmured, raising his other hand and beginning a slow, warm massage of her sore back muscles. "I want ya to get a nice long rest tonight. I can get Byron tucked in."

She closed her eyes, moist lips parting at his sensuous touch, stirring all her emotions. "Sully," she whispered hoarsely.

"Too hard?" he questioned uncomfortably.

"No. No, it's just right. Thank you."

He leaned forward over her shoulder, his cheek brushing hers, and kissed the corner of her lips. "Good."

She turned her head to meet his adoring gaze, wishing with all her heart these tender, loving yet infrequent moments were part of their routine, wishing that things would stop being so awkward and painful, wishing simply to be his wife again, and willing to commit to whatever would help bring them back to what they had before. "Sully, the Reverend stopped by the clinic today," she began softly.

He rubbed her arms, glancing behind him. "Ya think he's bein' quiet in there?" he asked, brow narrowed.

"I'll get ya!" Byron shouted suddenly from the sitting room. "I'm gonna get ya with my papa's tom-hawk!"

Startled, Michaela quickly broke away and hurried across the rooms to the fireplace, Sully close behind.

"Byron!" she exclaimed, falling to her knees beside him.

"I'll get-" The little boy looked up from his toys ingenuously. He had shoved all but two of his favorite cowboys aside, placing the two selected men facing each other a few feet apart, as if they were about to embark on a shooting match. Next he had raised Sully's tomahawk over his shoulder with two hands, the blade reflecting in the firelight, and appeared to be preparing to take a vigorous swing at one or both of the figurines.

Michaela immediately pulled the weapon from his grasp, cringing. "Byron, what on earth are you doing with this?"

"You know what we talked about, Byron," Sully added, standing him on his feet and brushing him off. "About how tomahawks ain't toys?"

"But I just found it," he replied simply, pointing across the room. "Over there on that."

"Over there on-" Michaela began, glancing at Sully's belt across the chair, the pouch for the weapon unclasped by Byron's quick fingers. She handed the tomahawk to Sully and ran her hands down her son's arms. "Are you hurt, sweetheart? Did you cut yourself? How many times has Mama told you not to touch those sort of sharp things? How many times?"

"But I's careful," Byron said weakly. "Papa says ya gotta be careful. I is!"

"He seems all right, Michaela," Sully said, picking up his belt and placing the tomahawk securely back in its pouch. "He ain't hurt."

"He might have just as easily seriously injured himself!" she contended, turning to him. "How could you leave something so dangerous within his reach?"

He sighed, clasping the belt back around his waist. "I ... I didn't think about him gettin' into it."

"Sully, we simply cannot leave weapons lying around with a four-year-old living in this house! You're going to have to start thinking about it." She glanced at Byron, who was staring up at his parents with wide, uncertain eyes. "I don't know why you have to let him see that in the first place," she went on. "I don't know why you have to throw it in front of him all the time."

"What?" he breathed. "He likes watchin'. Ya never said it bothered ya before!"

"Well, I'm saying so now," she replied. "He's never needed to play with knives or guns or tomahawks in the past and I don't think it's such a good idea you're encouraging it so now."

"Stop fussin' over him like he's a baby," he said. "He's growin' up, too. Someday he'll be a man and I want him to know these things. I'll teach our sons when's the time for usin' weapons and when it ain't, and how to throw a tomahawk so's they're safe."

"I do not fuss over him," she retorted. "And forgive me but he can barely lift your tomahawk let alone throw it."

He let loose another sigh, walking over to his son and clasping his arms. "Listen to me, Byron. That wasn't right of ya to take my tomahawk off my belt, you know that. You know we talked about that belongin' to your pa, and if ya wanna see it ya gotta ask first and then ya gotta be sittin' with me, remember?"

Byron frowned, nodding guiltily.

"All right. Now say you're sorry," Sully instructed.

"Sorry," he whimpered.

"And say you're sorry to Mama for scarin' her like that," Sully added, caressing his cheek.

Tears welled in his eyes as he met his mother's sympathetic gaze. "I sorry, Mama. I really sorry."

Michaela stroked back his hair and kissed his head. "I know, darling. I just don't want you to get hurt."

"I won't get hurt, I pwomise," he told her resolutely. "Don't get scared, Mama."

Sully patted his bottom. "Go on up to your room. I'll come in a minute and tuck ya in."

Obediently, Byron scampered up the staircase.

Michaela crouched to her knees and began gathering together Byron's cowboys. "Are we going to punish him?" she asked, her voice softer.

"He apologized," Sully said, bending and picking up the toy horse.

"Yes, but he doesn't seem to understand the seriousness of it," she replied. "He doesn't understand you can't promise someone you won't be hurt. I think he needs to be punished."

"And I think he's learned his lesson and we should let it go," Sully said firmly. He tilted her chin up to meet her eyes. "Seeing his mama upset is probably punishment enough. It gets to him more than ya think."

Wounded at the thought of having distressed her son, Michaela looked away.

"I'll clean this up," Sully murmured at last. "Go on to bed."

She rose to her feet, swallowing. "... Goodnight," she whispered.

to be continued...


	51. Chapter 64

Chapter Sixty-four

Sully once again let his eyes wander from the colorful, elaborate set back to his wife, seated at his side. She was leaning forward, riveted to the stage. The amateur actors were putting their all into every note of Il Barbiere di Siviglia as they played to a mesmerized audience made up mostly of country folk in their Sunday best.

"What're they sayin' now?" Sully whispered, leaning toward her and discreetly scratching his thigh where the wool pants of his suit had begun to cling and irritate.

"Dr. Bartolo is accusing Rosina of writing secret letters. He's grown suspicious," she replied, eyes still focused on the stage. Her fingers clutched a pair of opera glasses in her lap, seemingly more for effect than for any good use in the tiny playhouse. "He's set on keeping her under lock and key until their marriage is finalized," she added.

Sully nodded slowly, leaning back in his seat. He watched the stage for a few minutes, then once again turned back to Michaela, smiling at her sheer delight in the simple performance before them. He knew she was happy living in Colorado, but he had always sensed a small part of her occasionally missed the sophisticated lifestyle of Boston high society. Colorado had nothing like orchestras, plays or operas—at least not usually. He was glad to give her back a small piece of that, of all she had grown up with, even if it was only for one evening.

Michaela leaned towards him. "Rosina is trying to convince Bartolo her letter from the Count is just a laundry list," she whispered, handing him the opera glasses. "Here, look."

"He gonna believe that?" he whispered back, raising the glasses to his eyes and squinting.

"No, not for a minute." Suddenly she broke into animated applause.

Sully handed the glasses back, quickly realizing the scene was complete. He applauded along with everyone else as the curtains closed, the houselights were lit and loud murmurs of conversations filled the playhouse.

"That was wonderful," Michaela breathed, clasping her hands together and holding them to her chin, eyes still on the curtained stage.

"Is that it?" Sully asked, scratching his thigh again.

"Oh, no. That was just Act One," she told him.

"Oh," he replied, slightly embarrassed.

"Act Two is even better," she said, taking his hand.

He squeezed her fingers. "I remember the first play I took ya to."

"In Boston," she said, the fond memory quickly returning and warming her cheeks.

"Yeah," he said wistfully. "I don't remember the name, but I remember thinkin' how beautiful ya looked. Just like right now." He gave her cheek a small kiss, deepening her blush.

"I remember how nervous I was," she said with a wry raise of her eyebrows.

"Still nervous?" he questioned, drawing her hand into his lap.

She swallowed and gave a small nod. "It's been awhile since we've been to something like this together. I suppose I am, a little."

"Good, I'm glad I ain't the only one," he said.

"I hope the children are all right," she said abruptly, averting her eyes.

He leaned back in his seat, releasing her hand. "They are."

"What if Byron has an attack?"

"Then he has an attack," he said sensibly. "He's got his medicine and Matthew and Brian too are there to help. And 'sides, we'll be home later tonight, remember?"

"Yes, you're right," she said, reassured.

He laid his hand on her shoulder and stood up. "You just keep thinkin' about The Barber of Seville. You want some punch or somethin' before Act Two starts?"

"Oh, thank you. Yes." She started to rise to her feet, only to be nudged back to her seat by Sully's hand on her shoulder.

"Stay put," he instructed. "I'll be right back with it."

Michaela obeyed, smoothing her skirts and watching as he made his way out of the row, soon disappearing up the aisle into the crowd. She had only just begun flipping through her program when an unfamiliar voice called from a few aisles in front of her.

"Mrs. Brooks? Mrs. Brooks!"

Michaela raised her head to the voice instinctively, no matter that she had rarely ever been addressed as such, most people knowing she had kept her maiden name when she married Cal just as she had when she married Sully. At first she was certain the man calling couldn't mean her, but as he waved to her and shuffled his way out of his row and into the aisle, his wife behind him, recognition quickly set in. Rowan Weston.

Michaela had occasionally invited to supper the well-dressed, carefully groomed owner of the construction company in Manitou. Afterward Rowan and Cal would usually sit at kitchen table over coffee, working out the details of designing the building for the streetcar business. In the months since, when Mr. Weston passed through Colorado Springs on business, he would stop by the homestead to visit and see how the streetcars were coming. He and Cal had developed a casual friendship over time. Rowan hadn't been by since winter, however, and no doubt hadn't any idea what all had happened since then.

Michaela quickly looked for a way to escape what was sure to prove an awkward situation. Realizing there was nothing she could do but make eye contact with him, she smiled, rose from her seat and met him halfway.

"Michaela," Weston breathed, taking her gloved hand as she approached. "I'm so glad to see you. You look absolutely ravishing!"

Michaela forced another smile as he pecked the back of her hand courteously. Then he turned to the tight-laced, straight-backed woman at his side. She held a pair of opera glasses at least twice as expensive as Michaela's.

"You remember my wife," he said, casting the woman a brief smile and then swiftly turning his attention back to Michaela. "Well, how are you? How is Cal? I hope he's still fairing well. Streetcars were truly a brilliant idea for a town like Colorado Springs.

"He did well, yes," Michaela stammered, not sure what more to say. She couldn't imagine trying to explain what the situation really was. To begin with, these people would never believe it. Rowan and his wife would stare at her, confused and incredulous, as she struggled to explain that her first husband, long thought dead, had actually been in prison, had escaped, had canoed, walked, hitchhiked across hundreds of miles to come home. They would never believe after all the effort put into getting the streetcars off the ground, the little building was now for sale and Cal was somewhere in Wyoming, at least she thought, becoming a soldier.

"Splendid," Weston remarked. "I always thought him a gifted businessman. Oh, and the way Cal was with you and your children. All of you just so happy. It did my heart good. A delightful household to be around indeed."

" … Thank you," Michaela replied uncomfortably.

"Where is Mr. Brooks?" Mrs. Weston spoke up, glancing around quickly. "Where are you hiding him?"

"Yes, please, Michaela, I'd love to see him again," Rowan added. "In fact you and Cal and your lovely children as well should join us for supper sometime. We're right in town, only a few blocks from the theater-"

"Actually, he's … Cal's away right now—on business," Michaela began carefully. She shook with surprise as Sully came to stand beside her, eyes locked on Mr. and Mrs. Weston.

"Michaela," Sully murmured, handing her a punch glass and draping one hand around her waist protectively.

Rowan and his wife shared a glance, simultaneously clearing their throats.

"Oh, my. Well, hello there," Rowan choked out awkwardly, eyes glancing over Sully's hair and the red and white beads around his neck, looking strange resting against the vest of his pressed suit. "Are-are you a friend of Michaela's, too? I don't believe we've met."

"A friend?" Sully echoed curtly, glancing at his wife, waiting for her to explain.

Michaela grasped Sully's arm, eager to take him away from everything. "I'm sorry, Mr. Weston, but if you'll excuse us we need to get back to our seats. The next Act is about to start." She took a step backward from the couple. "It was nice seeing you both again," she added hastily, quickening her pace.

Reluctantly, Sully followed, brow fixed as he glanced back.

"Rowan, has she no shame?" Mrs. Weston whispered, well within earshot. "I never would have believed it of her! And in public practically before all of Colorado!"

Rowan nodded his head in agreement, staring at Sully, flabbergasted. "I always thought they seemed so happy," he added. "How dreadful for Cal … and those poor children!"

Sully turned back to Michaela as they took their seats. "Why didn't you explain?" he demanded, trying to keep his voice low. "Michaela, they think I'm … they think you're some … I don't know what they're thinkin'!"

She took a sip of the punch, the cool liquid going down slow and hard. "I'm sorry. I didn't know how."

He sighed, resting his hands on his knees. "How could ya let 'em just talk about him, about Cal like that and not say anythin'? Ya just let 'em think you and him are still … couldn't ya of at least told 'em who I was? How could ya let 'em think what they were thinkin' about me? You ashamed of us? Of me?"

She felt tears of guilt threaten to rise to the surface, and held them back firmly. "I'm sorry, Sully," she said, resting the punch glass in her lap. "I'm not ashamed. I just, how could I explain such a thing? I didn't think they would even believe it."

"Well, they're gonna have to believe it," he replied. "You're my wife, we're married just like we've always been, and we can't go around lettin' people think otherwise." He folded his arms as the houselights dimmed and the last of the audience lingering in the aisles returned to their seats. "We gotta go back to 'em and explain," he said resolutely.

"Shh, it's starting," Michaela whispered. She watched him out of the corner of her eye as the orchestra began playing the interlude. She couldn't blame him for being upset. Sully was right, she should have found a way to tell the Westons, and yet Michaela felt justified in her belief that there truly was no easy way to explain all that had happened. Gradually, she slid her hands up his arm and held on as the opera continued, her eyes on him. Sully sat just as silently, staring at the stage, thoughts clearly focused elsewhere.

& & &

Brian opened the front door, removing his hat and swiping his arm across his forehead. He headed into the kitchen, intending to get himself a glass of water, when he glanced at the table and stopped in his tracks. "Pa … what happened?" Suddenly he let out a wholehearted laugh.

Byron and Katie were seated at the table, picking at their plates of blueberry pie, a pie tin between them with only half the slices remaining. They looked up at their brother, drowsy from full bellies, their faces, hands and clothes streaked with, thick, dark red juice. Sully stood behind them, helplessly looking on, a checked napkin in hand he didn't seem to know what to do with.

"They were hungry," Sully explained weakly. "They wanted somethin' to eat."

Brian laughed again, walking over to the table. "So ya fed 'em half a pie? B., what did you talk Pa into?" He tousled his little brother's hair good-naturedly.

"I was hungry," Byron said simply, one blueberry-speckled hand clutching his stomach.

"I think ya still got time to get 'em cleaned up before Ma comes home and finds out ya gave 'em pie right before supper," Brian said with a grin. He laid his hand on his father's shoulder. "I'll get the tub ready."

"Thanks, Brian," Sully said, awkwardly lifting each of the children down from their chairs. "Come on, kids. Let's get these clothes off ya and in the laundry basket."

He crouched to his knees and began peeling off Katie's dress and stockings and unbuttoning Byron's shirt, suspenders and britches, both children standing in front of him unquestioningly, growing sleepier by the minute.

Brian had water heated and the tub, soap and towels all put out by the time Sully had the children undressed. "All set, Pa," he said as he put his hat back on his head. "I gotta get back to the barn and finish my chores before dark."

Sully opened his mouth, about to ask him for help with the bath, but then quickly quieted. Brian was always so ready to lend a hand when it came to the younger children, most of the time without even being told, and Sully decided to let him go about his chores for now without asking him to do anything more. He didn't know where to begin, bath time having always been Michaela's responsibility, but he was sure he could plod his way through.

"You kids'll give me a hand with this, won't ya?" Sully asked, carefully lifting Byron into the tub followed by a very silent Katie. "You'll tell me where to start?"

"We will help," Byron spoke up, settling into the warm water. "First ya get us all soapy."

"That's easy enough, ain't it?" Sully replied, picking up the bar of soap. He ran it haphazardly down each of their arms, in a circular motion along their chests and backs, around their necks and behind their ears.

"Papa, you're gettin' all wet!" Byron remarked, sniffling as he pointed at his father's damp shirtsleeves.

"Comes with the job, I s'pose," Sully said, caressing his hair as he picked up a washcloth, dipped it in the water, and carefully began swiping the blueberry juice from their faces. At last he sat back, looking them over painstakingly for any remaining stains. He reached up and carefully touched a lock of Katie's hair. "Oh, no. You kids got blueberries up in your hair, too."

Byron shrugged. "Gotta wash our heads, too, I guess."

"I guess so," Sully replied. He stood up, found a glass in one of the cupboards, and returned to the children. He filled the glass with tub water and poured it gently over their heads, one at a time, until their hair was sufficiently damp for washing.

"Pa?" Brian called suddenly from outside. "Pa!"

Sully looked up, the bar of soap in one hand. "Brian?"

"Pa, can ya come out here?" he called more loudly.

Sully rose to his feet and let the soap fall back into the tub. "You stay here, all right? I'll be right back."

"Where ya goin', Papa?" Byron asked curiously, a droplet of water clinging to his chin.

"Just gotta see what your brother needs," he said as he opened the back door. "You wait for me here."

Sully spotted Brian standing in the doorway of the barn and jogged to meet him. "What's wrong?"

"Somethin's ain't right with the cow," he said, hurrying back into the barn, Sully following. "She hasn't touched her feed all day. Look."

Sully glanced in the cow's full bucket, nodding.

"I don't know what's the matter with her," Brian said impatiently. "Why won't she eat?"

Sully reached up and scratched the animal's brow. "I don't know. She looks all right."

"What if she's come down with somethin'?" Brian pressed, stroking the cow's neck worriedly. "She always eats. This ain't like her at all."

"Probably just feelin' a little under the weather, Brian," Sully told him. "We'll check in on her tomorrow. I bet she'll start eatin' again by then."

"Yeah, you're probably right," Brian said. "Just the same, I'm gonna ask Ma to take a look at her tonight."

"Sure, that's a good idea," Sully replied as the barn door swung open, late afternoon light pouring into the shadowy room. "There's your ma now," he added with a small smile. "You wait until she's sat down a little and had some supper before you ask her, all right?"

"All right," Brian replied, smoothing his hand over the cow's ears.

Sully met Michaela at the door and took Flash from her. "Have a good day?" he asked, leaning forward and giving her lips a soft peck.

"Busy," she replied, smiling tiredly at his kiss. "But yes, it went well, thank you."

"Good," Sully replied as he led Flash into a stall. "Brian and I'll unsaddle her. You go on inside."

"Did all of you have a good day?" she asked, hands clasped.

"Sure did, Ma," Brian spoke up, reaching beneath Flash's belly to unbuckle the girth. "Pa took us fishin'."

"Oh, that sounds nice," she replied softly, glancing around briefly. "Where are Byron and Katie?"

"Inside-" Sully replied, stopping short.

"Inside alone?" Michaela questioned. "Sully, why are your sleeves so damp?"

"In the tub. They're in the tub," Sully replied frantically, darting out of the stall and running for the door.

Michaela lifted her skirts and followed, hastily trying to make sense of Sully's words. It was one thing to leave the children alone in the house for a few minutes, that she might have brought herself to understand, but surely Sully didn't mean he had left them in water all by themselves while he carried on a casual conversation far away in the barn with she and Brian. Surely, she had misheard.

Sully burst through the front door and ran into the kitchen, Michaela and Brian right behind him. The children were sitting in the water, just as he had left them, only now they had edged right against each other and were hugging each other fiercely, faces pale with cold.

"Papa, we called," Byron said, teeth chattering. "Where'd you go?"

Sully fell to his knees, reaching out to caress his shoulder. "Byron … I'm sorry. Oh. I'm sorry."

Michaela scooped them out of the tub in an instant, wrapping them each in a towel and frantically rubbing their soaking hair with more towels. Brian stooped beside them and rubbed his little sister's back vigorously, eyeing her quivering little legs.

"Mama, I'm cold," Katie whimpered, hugging her neck and sniffling.

"Me, too," Byron added.

"Sully, help me," Michaela said firmly. "Dry Byron's hair."

Sully immediately turned from the tub and took a towel from her, rubbing it over Byron's head until only a slight dampness clung to the child's dark locks.

Brian stood up, having helped remove every last droplet of water from Katie, and eyed Michaela apprehensively. He wasn't sure whether she was angry or sad or maybe both. He bit his lip, feeling truly sorry for his father, and for his mother too for that matter. It was hard to fault Sully for what happened when clearly he just didn't seem to know any better, not having been around young children for very long. And yet it seemed like common sense. Still, his mother should have recognized Sully needed help and taught him so he would know how to look after Katie and Byron, so things like this wouldn't happen in the first place. Brian decided he didn't want to be anywhere nearby when his parents confronted each other about the incident.

"Ma?" he spoke up tentatively. "You want me to take 'em upstairs or somethin'? I could get 'em in some clothes."

Michaela gave Katie's cheek a kiss and then looked up at him. "Yes, thank you, Brian. Put them each in warm nightshifts and socks. I'll make some cocoa."

"This'll just take a few minutes." Brian took his younger siblings' hands and led them out of the kitchen, afraid to look back.

Sully quietly approached the table and put the children's plates and forks in the sink, eyes focused on the task the whole while. He could hear Michaela moving around the kitchen just as silently, putting a kettle on the stove and mugs on the table. She was fuming, he could tell, and he knew she had a right to be. It seemed the more he tried to help with the children, the more mistakes he made. And the more work and worry he made for her.

He rinsed one of the dishes under the pump, watching the blueberry juice thin and disappear down the drain. "I shouldn't of given 'em pie before supper," he said suddenly.

She turned from the stove. "I don't care about that, Sully," she said, voice disturbingly calm. She paused, then spoke again. "You realize it only takes minutes for a child to drown, even in shallow water."

He gazed out the window, the idea of what could have happened, and all because of him, filling him with formidable guilt. He straightened and walked across the kitchen for the back door.

"Where are you going?" Michaela asked, taking a step in his direction.

"I gotta take a walk," he murmured.

"It's windy out. You might need your ja…" she called, but he had already shut the door and was half-way across the yard. She turned back to the stove, filled with guilt of her own. She shouldn't have thought they could pretend Sully had always been there, knew the children as well as she did, knew what to do and what not to do when it came to their care. It was her fault for thinking that raising her voice and reprimanding him would help him do better. It was her fault for not instead sitting down with him and telling him long ago everything he needed to know.

& & &

"She says she'll visit again soon," Brian went on, a two-paged letter from their older sister in hand, still slightly out of breath from hurrying home from school,. "After her next set of examinations comin' up." He was seated at the dining room table, Katie in his lap, his father and little brother across from them. Brian and Katie had stopped by the post office just before leaving town. Horace had handed them a small pile of mail, the letter from Colleen on top. Both children had forced themselves to wait until they got home before tearing it open and reading it aloud for the entire family to enjoy at once.

"We all miss her," Sully remarked, looking up from the game of Old Maid he had been playing with Byron until Brian had come in the door, waving the letter.

"Sure do," Byron spoke up, resting his head against his father's shoulder.

Michaela took a step into the dining room, hands dusty with flour from kneading dough for biscuits. "I'm sure she'll try to come as soon as she can." She glanced at the pile of unopened envelopes Brian had set aside. "What else came?"

Brian chuckled, picking up the pile and sifting through it. "We didn't even look yet." His smile widened. "A letter from Gran'ma!"

"Gran'ma?" Katie questioned excitedly, sitting straighter and touching the beaten-up envelope with her fingers hopefully.

"It's addressed to you, Ma," Brian added. "Can we open it?"

"Yes. Please," Michaela replied eagerly. "Read it aloud for us."

Brian tore back one end of the envelope and shook out the folded stationary, unfolding it and immediately commencing in sharing its contents. "'Dear Michaela," he began, still wearing a broad smile, "Everyone is fairing well here at home and I hope you and the children are well, too. I know Katie's sixth birthday is coming soon and she must be excited about that.'"

"Oo, that's me!" Katie said, clutching Brian's arm.

"Yep," Brian replied with a smile.

"Am I in it?" Byron spoke up.

"Sure are, B.," Brian said. "'I just can't imagine how big the boys must be getting, too,'" he continued. "I'm sure Brian and Byron are just as handsome as ever.'"

"That's me!" Byron shouted. "Gran'ma, I'm big! Keep goin', Brian."

Brian shook the letter straight and cleared his throat. "'We all miss you so much and think of you every day. Michaela, I've thought long and hard about what I'm about to write next, and I want you to understand I only tell you this because I love you and want what's best for you and your children. I am appalled that …'" Brian stopped short, brow wrinkled. He skimmed the remaining contents silently, searching for any bit of good news, turning up nothing but increasing disapproval in Elizabeth's words. He looked up at his mother, face ashen.

"What's wrong?" Michaela asked, stepping closer to the table.

"She wants us to move to Boston!" Brian uttered. "Ma, we can't!"

"We're gonna visit Boston?" Katie put in excitedly. "Can we go see Gran'ma, too?"

"She just misses us, Brian, that's all," Michaela said, raising her apron to her hands and wiped away the flour from her fingers, then taking the letter from him.

"Ma," Brian said impatiently. "Just for a visit, right? We ain't movin', are we?"

"Of course not, Brian," she murmured unsteadily, blinking back a sudden well of unexpected tears as she read the remainder of the letter.

Byron struggled to make sense of the news, watching his mother's expression warily. Perplexed, he looked up at Sully, waiting for him to speak.

"Excuse me," Michaela finally whispered, disappearing into the kitchen, the letter in hand. Reluctantly, she walked to the window, held it to the light and read once more Elizabeth's words.

& I am appalled that you so readily allowed Sully back into your life, no questions asked, and for that matter back into the lives of my grandchildren. Of course it's a miracle he survived and that we now know what truly happened that day. I know how much you were all praying for this. Yet here you are, making the same mistake that put you in such a dire situation in the first place. You were aware I had my reservations when you married Mr. Brooks, but at least I wasn't fearing for your lives. Now you're back with a man that as far as I can see has not learned from his mistakes either, who is according to Brian's letters still off gallivanting with those Indians all day as if nothing's happened and involving the child too. How can you allow him to be so careless with Brian, and after all that happened before? I won't even get into the fact that despite the return of your husband you're still the chief supporter, in fact the only supporter of the family. I was never too impressed with Mr. Brooks's shack of a streetcar business but at least he had a job to go to every morning like normal husbands and fathers. Michaela, what you do with your life I no longer have any control over, but those children are still my grandchildren. I absolutely insist that you and Brian, Katie and Byron move to Boston, at least temporarily, and we'll sort all this out. If only for the children's sake,, you must come home.&

Sully watched the kitchen uncertainly. He had barely spoken to Michaela since the day before when he had left Katie and Byron in the tub. He felt awkward going to her now. He was sure he wouldn't know what to say and even more afraid no matter what he did he wouldn't be able to comfort her.

Brian eyed his father, brow fixed with worry. Sully glanced back at him and smoothed Byron's hair, shifting in his chair indecisively.

Byron tugged on his father's sleeve. "How come Mama got sad like that?"

Sully stood up, eyeing the kitchen helplessly.

Katie grasped Brian's sleeves. "Don't she wanna go see Gran'ma? Why's she sad?"

Brian rubbed his little sister's back. " … I don't know, Kate."

"Papa? Papa, go give Mama a hug," Byron instructed, pointing at the kitchen.

"I think maybe she wants to be alone right now, Byron," Sully told him softly, laying his hand on the little boy's shoulder.

Byron glanced at the kitchen, then back up at his father. "No she doesn't. She wants a hug." He pressed his hands to Sully's thighs and gave him a firm nudge in the direction of the kitchen. "Come on, Papa," he pleaded. "Make her not sad no more. Go."

Sully squeezed his shoulder, looked to Brian once more, who gave a nod of approval, and hesitantly walked into the kitchen, having no idea how he was going to begin. Michaela was standing in front of the sink, her back to him, the letter lying on the counter beside her. He paused at the table, watching her for a time before he worked up the courage to speak.

"Ya wanna talk about it?" he asked at last.

Silently she shook her head.

He waited another long moment, then took one step forward. "Michaela, it's all right with me if you wanna go see her."

"Oh, Sully. I don't want to go to Boston," she replied. "Not now."

Tentatively he approached the sink and stood next to her, searching her face. "She say somethin' else? What'd she say to ya? Michaela, sometimes words come out harsher on paper than folks mean for them to be."

She nodded, raising her hand and brushing at her nose.

Even more tentatively, he gently began rubbing her back. "You know how your ma is."

"She's never understood why I would possibly want to live here, make a life for us here," Michaela replied softly.

"Like ya said she misses ya," Sully said sensibly. "But she also wants ya to do what makes ya happy, the kids happy. Deep down she knows that's what's important." He paused, reaching his hand up and stroking her cheek with the back of one finger. "Just the same I s'pose whatever she wrote it still hurt."

She managed another small nod, eyes welling with fresh tears.

He grasped her hand and tenderly kissed her cheek. "Shh."

Slowly, Michaela turned to him and stepped into his embrace, closing her eyes and letting the security of Sully's arms wrapped tightly around her back lend their calming effect. He planted loving kisses on her cheek and hair, his comforting grip steadfast all the while. He had always been like that, so quick to hold her and reassure her, letting her know through his touch he was right there if she wanted to tell him anything. He was always so patient with her, never pressing her. If only he knew the letter was not so much about Elizabeth's disapproval of Colorado, but rather her disapproval of him. It was as if Michaela had been given a dire warning, perhaps even a premonition, one she was unable to brush aside, no matter how much she tried to disregard her mother's unforgiving remarks.

"Let's put that letter away somewhere," Sully whispered against her ear. "How's that?"

"Right now?" she whispered back, her tears slowing.

"Sure, if ya want," he replied.

She clutched him tighter, stroking back his hair and pressing her cheek to his chest. "No, not right now. Just … just hold me, Sully. Just keep holding me."

to be continued...


	52. Chapter 65

Chapter Sixty-five

"Five hot ciders please, Grace," Sully said, placing a quarter on the stand set up beside the schoolhouse.

"So good t' see ya'll," Grace said as she ladled the cider into mugs.

"Papa's takin' me sledding afterwards, Miss Gwace," Byron spoke up, clutching the edge of the counter with his mitten-clad hands. "We're bringin' my red sled. That's the fastest."

"We're all going," Michaela added, putting her arm around Katie.

"Well, don't that sound like fun," Grace replied, filling the last mug and handing it to Sully.

"Here, Kates," Sully said, giving her the mug. "Careful. Don't burn your tongue."

Grudgingly, the child took the mug in two hands and blew on the steaming liquid.

"Tell Papa thank you, Katie," Michaela instructed softly.

Grace eyed her goddaughter worriedly, and then met Brian's eyes. The boy gave a silent shake of his head.

Sully gently caressed Katie's head. There had been times when the child ignored anything he put in front of her. At least she had accepted the cider. It was a step in the right direction, small as it might be. "Come on, let's get inside the schoolhouse," he said. "Don't want to miss anythin'."

"Sully, is that you?!" a booming voice called.

Michaela cringed, glancing at Sully. "Preston," she whispered, reluctantly turning.

"Isn't this the happy picture?" the banker said, gesturing with both arms. "The whole family back together again. Who would have ever imagined." He extended his hand. "Sully, so nice to see you here."

Politely, Sully took it. "Good to be here, Preston."

"I was hoping I'd run into you," he went on. "I've been considering an edition to my homestead, a parlor on the west side-"

"I ain't interested," Sully interrupted.

Preston glanced around. "Well, as usual you don't exactly appear employed. You could use the money, couldn't you?"

"I don't need your money," he said calmly. "Thanks for the offer."

"Ah, I see," Preston replied. "You're taking over that little streetcar business Michaela's husband or whatever he is started. Keeping it in the family."

Sully tensed and Michaela immediately grabbed his hand, squeezing it reassuringly.

"Cal's selling, Preston," she said.

"Oh, what a shame," he said.

"Cal took me for rides in them," Byron put in. "It was fun." He looked up at his father. "You can take me for rides, too, Papa?"

"Oh, tell the boy you will, Sully," Preston urged. "It'd be the perfect way to win him over, don't you agree?"

"I don't remember seeing you here last year, Preston," Michaela said quickly. "I didn't know this sort of thing interested you."

"Shakespeare, Michaela, always interests me," he replied. "These poor children will likely tear it to shreds, but nonetheless, here I am."

"All of us practiced real hard for today," Brian spoke up, offended.

Sully laid his hand on Brian's shoulder.

"It's your presence that seems the surprise, Sully," Preston said. "I had no idea you appreciated such refined culture."

"'Contaminate our fingers with base bribes," Sully replied. "And sell the mighty space of our large honors. For so much trash as may be grasped thus?" He narrowed his brow. "I had rather be a dog, and bay the moon, Than such a Roman.'"

Flabbergasted, Preston's jaw dropped.

Suppressing a chuckle, Michaela put her arm around Brian and Katie and cast a grin at Sully. "Let's go inside," she said.

& & &

"Did ya like it, Pa?" Brian asked as the crowd filed out of the schoolhouse, chattering and laughing.

"You did great, son," Sully said proudly, patting his back.

"You were all wonderful, Brian," Michaela added.

"We get to go sleddin' now, Mama?" Byron asked tugging at her skirts. The Shakespeare scenes hadn't held his attention for long, but he had done his best to sit patiently, the thought of romping in the snow afterward his incentive.

"Yes, we get to go sledding now!" Michaela chuckled, taking his hand.

"Could we get another cup of cider before we leave?" Brian spoke up.

"Sure ya can," Sully agreed, digging into his pocket for a coin. "Take your brother and sister, all right? We'll meet ya at the wagon."

Brian obliged, grasping his younger siblings hands and leading them to Grace's hot cider stand.

"They really were quite good," Michaela remarked as Sully boosted her onto the wagon seat.

"Sure were." He climbed up beside her. "They sure showed Preston," he added.

She smiled, shyly taking his arm. "Yes, we all did."

He gazed at her lovingly, the cool breeze ruffling her hair, her cheeks and lips flushed from the cold. He had missed just having her beside him. Everything today had gone right. There had been little awkwardness between them, and now even her hands were wrapped around his arm. Perhaps finally they had begun to rebuild what they had. He wanted nothing to stop the momentum. "Michaela?" He took the reins, squeezing them absently with his fingers. "I was wonderin', could I make ya supper tonight?"

"Oh," she murmured. "That would be nice."

"Just the two of us I mean," he added quietly. "Later, after the kids are in bed."

She returned his gaze, pleased. "I'd love that."

He gave her a small kiss. "Good, I'm glad."

"Isn't that Horace?" she spoke suddenly, glancing toward town. "He's running."

"Think somethin's wrong?" Sully asked.

Michaela climbed down from the wagon as Horace caught up to her.

"Dr. Mike, this just come for ya," he said, handing her a small, battered envelope. "I know ya been waiting for it and I wanted to catch ya before ya left." He cleared his throat. "Oh. Hey, Sully."

"Horace," Sully murmured, watching Michaela closely. "Who's it from, Michaela?" he asked. "Everythin' all right?"

Horace stepped away. "Uh, I gotta get back to the office. See ya folks."

Michaela turned the envelope over, glancing at the return address. Quickly, she tucked the envelope in her drawstring purse, mustering a half smile and climbing back onto the seat.

"Michaela, you all right?" Sully asked worriedly.

She nodded quickly. "Um ... Sully, would you mind stopping by the homestead before sledding?"

"Why?" he asked suspiciously. Michaela was being very cautious about the letter. It definitely wasn't from her mother again, or another relative.

"I'd just rather not go after all," she told him. "... I'm sorry."

"The kids'll be disappointed," he told her, laying his hand on her knee. "Thought we were gonna do somethin' as a family."

"I know. I'm not up to it today, that's all. You take them and enjoy yourselves. Besides, I'm not as courageous as all of you when it comes to sledding. I should stay home."

"If that's what you want." He paused. "You still want to have dinner tonight?"

She patted his hand, averting her eyes. "Yes, of course I do...I wouldn't miss it."

& & &

Sully lit two tall candles on the dining room table, then shook out the match and gazed eagerly toward the staircase as he heard Michaela stepping down. He picked up a small bouquet of violets and met her at the base of the stairs.

"Byron made me promise to get ya flowers," he said nervously, handing them to her.

"Oh. Thank you," she told him, flattered. She was dressed in the same navy blue dress she had worn to the Spring Festival earlier that day, but had unpinned her hair and let it flow down her back.

He caressed her cheek. "Ya're beautiful."

She smiled up at him shyly and followed him into the dining room.

He pulled out her chair at the end of one side of the table. "Venison's almost done. Just be a few more minutes." He took a seat next to her at the head of the table.

"Everything looks very nice," she remarked, fingering the lace tablecloth, clearly distracted.

He reached over and took her hand. "Michaela, I love you," he said suddenly.

"Sully," she replied quietly, taken off guard.

"I love you and I want to be the best pa I can be to our kids," he told her. "Katie was the first baby I ever really looked after. I didn't know much about it, but ya taught me how to take care of her-how to hold her, give her a bottle, diaper her-as we went along. Michaela, I ain't ever been around kids Byron and Katie's age. I ain't done so good lookin' after 'em these past few weeks, and if either of 'em ever got hurt 'cause of me ... but I know I could do better if I had a little help. You're the best ma anybody could ask for and I want to learn from you, that way you'll always feel they're safe with me, especially Byron with his asthma. So...I was hopin' ya could help me like ya did with Katie."

She sighed, touched. "Oh, Sully. Of course I will. I think they'd appreciate that, too. They love you. Byron especially."

He shrugged. "With him, it's like four years don't matter. He makes me forget."

She cleared her throat. "You told him about the prison," she said quietly. "I heard about it from him."

He looked up, surprised. "...I don't know, he was just askin' and I-" He squeezed her hand. "Michaela, I know it upsets ya, but there are some things I just want to forget about. Some things I just don't want ya to hear. It's because I care about ya, all right?"

She shook her head. "I wish it were, Sully. You-you talk to Byron more than you talk to me."

"That ain't true. I didn't tell Byron half of it," he said.

"You could tell me. We've always shared everything."

"I want to share everything again, too," he implored. "...But this is one thing I want to put behind us, all right?"

"I could help you work through it," she replied. "It's obviously still on your mind."

"Michaela," he said, "there ain't nothin' to work through, understand? It's not on my mind. It's forgotten. Let's not bring this all up again."

She stared at her hands. "I just think certain things...you can't forget about. It isn't fair to expect someone to forget such a significant portion of time in their life. Four years, Sully. It's better to accept it and work through it, than deny it."

He was quiet a moment, then stood up. "It's me that was in prison, wasn't it?" He caressed her shoulder. "Michaela, you spend four years in there and then tell me ya don't want to forget it all."

She closed her eyes, sighing. Sully expected her to forget the past four years as well, which included Cal. He was just as frustrated she continued to refuse, she knew, yet she also knew she couldn't leave Cal's memory behind as easily as Sully claimed he could forget the prison.

"Venison should be done," Sully murmured. "I'll be right back."

Michaela waited quietly, distracted by thoughts of the letter from Cal she had read at least ten times that afternoon. Cal had given her an address in Wyoming to mail the annulment papers to, and then written her a brief note. He had said he hoped everything was going well, that she and Sully were doing well back together, and had wished she, Sully and the children all the best. He had closed by instructing her not to write back, that he wanted her to move on from him and the only way to do that would be to cut off all ties.

Nothing could have hurt Michaela more. She needed someone to talk to, air her frustrations to, and wasn't getting very far with Sully. Cal would listen and offer gentle advice and support. A twinge of pain wrinkled her brow. She missed Cal desperately, and the worst of it was she couldn't tell that to Sully, not without hurting him. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she brushed at them quickly as Sully returned with two plates.

He eyed her apprehensively, sensing her thoughts were far from the meal at hand. Earlier that day, walking home from sledding, he had carefully asked Brian about the letter Michaela had received, wondering if he knew anything about it.

"Probably from Cal," Brian had told him softly. "He said he'd write soon as he got settled, send his address...for the annulment papers. Ma's been waiting. Goes to the Post Office every day."

Sully had grown quiet at the revelation. Michaela's manner since she had received the letter that afternoon had been so subdued, but her eyes betrayed great pain. As much as he wanted to be angry, he couldn't help but feel sympathy for her distraught.

Michaela made a poor attempt to brighten her expression as Sully placed their plates before them.

"Smell good?" he asked, taking a seat.

She nodded, laying her napkin in her lap, then suddenly hesitating. "Sully?"

He held out his hand. "You want to say grace for us?"

"...No." She cleared her throat. "I mean...I'm sorry. I...I'm suddenly not feeling very well."

"Ya ain't even tasted it," he teased quietly.

"No, it looks wonderful. But I think I'd like to lie down. I'm so sorry you went to so much trouble. I just don't have much of an appetite at the moment."

He tried not to show his disappointment. There was nothing wrong with Michaela, at least physically. "No, you ain't feelin' good then ya best get up to bed. Want me to help ya upstairs?"

She stood up, placing her napkin on the table. "No, no. I'm fine. I'll see you in the morning?"

He stood up with her and gave her brow a soft kiss. "Sure. Get a good sleep. I'll be down here if you need me."

& & &

Teacup in hand, Sully slowly opened the master bedroom door. "Michaela?" he called softly. The bedcovers were turned down, but she was seated at her desk, pen poised over a sheet of paper, a lamp beside her lit low.

She hastily covered the paper with a blank sheet and turned nervously in her chair.

"I brought ya up some tea," he said, coming towards her. "Thought maybe you'd be sleepin'."

"No, I couldn't," she admitted, taking the cup from him. "Thank you. That's very sweet."

He stepped back. "I got the kettle on the stove if you want any more."

She nodded, setting the cup on her vanity. "Thank you."

He placed his hand on the doorknob, and then suddenly walked back to her. "You want to tell me what was in that letter?"

She lowered her eyes, taken off guard.

"It's from him, ain't it?" he went on, careful to keep his voice calm.

She swallowed hard. "He wrote to let me know where he is, so that I could mail the annulment papers."

Sully paused. "... That why you're upset?"

Her lip trembled. "No...I don't know. I've been expecting this. It's just ... he said some things that hurt me."

Sully felt his chest tighten. "What'd he say?" he asked protectively. "Michaela?"

She unfolded Cal's letter slowly. "Just that-that he doesn't think we should maintain any contact. He doesn't even want me to reply to this letter."

Sully breathed a sigh. "So you're writing to him anyway," he said tensely, gesturing at the vanity.

"You don't understand," she pleaded.

"No, I s'pose I don't," he retorted. "Don't know why you can't just let it go. He's gone. It's over now, Michaela. Even he's tryin' to tell ya that."

"Four years of my life, our lives, can simply be brushed aside never to be thought of again?" She stood up. "It's as if you want me to completely forget I ever even knew Cal. How can you ask me to do that? Is it because utter denial of anything that's remotely painful to you is the only way you can handle it?"

He grasped the bedpost with one hand. Her words were true, and they stung.

"You want me to forget it all," she went on. "Sully, it happened. Why can't you accept that? Did I ask you to forget Abigail? Did I ever ask you to deny her?"

He pursed his lips. "That ain't the same, Michaela. She's gone. Let's not bring her into this."

"But she was special to you," Michaela replied. "She'll always have a place in your heart, and I accepted that." She pressed her hand to her chest. "Cal was special to me, do you understand? He was special to the children, to this town. He can't suddenly cease to exist."

He took a deep breath. "...He meant so much to ya, why don't ya go back to him?"

She closed her eyes. "Sully."

He clenched his hand in a fist, frustrated.

She stepped back to the vanity and sunk into the chair, resting her hands in her lap. "I'm not sure we can do this by ourselves."

"What do ya mean?" he asked quietly.

"The reverend came by the clinic the other day for an appointment. He offered to counsel us-"

"No," Sully interrupted, uncomfortable with the idea. "We ain't doin' that."

"I think it would be good for us. He could help you cope with what happened at the prison ... and he could help me with, well ... all these changes. He could help us compromise better. Why can't we at least talk to him?"

"...Because, Michaela." He sighed. "Look, we said ourselves this is gonna take time. We can do this. We don't have t' give up."

"It's not giving up. It's getting help," she insisted. "He could help us come to terms with the past. You don't even want to make the effort." Tears suddenly sprang to her eyes. "You care more about taking the children fishing, or sledding or to the reservation than you do about our marriage."

He came to her side, bending to his knees. "No, I care so much. Don't think that. I care about us. All of us." He rested his hand on her shoulder. "We're doin' things as a family, ain't we? What about the Festival today? We all went to that together, didn't we? And we all had a real good time."

She nodded tearfully. "Yes, but-"

"We're doin' better, see?" he went on. "It's gonna take time, just like we said. I'm willin' to take the time. I just want you to be, too." He glanced at the letter, a lump in his throat. "Why do ya gotta write to him, Michaela? Why?"

She wondered if Sully was right. Maybe it was best to cut off all ties. "I don't know...I...I just wanted to talk to him, tell him we're all right," she whispered. She brushed his hair behind his ears. "I'm sorry it hurts you, sweetheart. I'm sorry. I want you to understand. You're right, perhaps we are doing better, and it makes me so happy you're devoting so much to the children and really want to do better by them, but Sully ... I can't forget ... I can't. Don't ask me to forget."

He stood up, sighing, and turned toward the door, opening it.

"Where are you going?" she called.

He paused. "G'night, Michaela," he whispered.

& & &

Sully scratched behind Wolf's ears, chuckling as she barked and licked his hand with her pink tongue.

"She's a good dog, ain't she, Pa?" Brian said, leaning against the porch railing, Katie at his side.

"She's real friendly," Sully agreed.

"Ain't afraid of much either," Brian added, "even though she's still pretty young. She knows how to sit and roll over and fetch, too. Katie and me taught her."

Sully glanced at his little girl. "Ya taught her real well. She always does what I tell her."

"Katie's Wolf's favorite though, right Kate?" Brian said, putting his arm around her.

A proud grin escaped the child's lips. She nodded, looking up at Brian.

Sully sighed blissfully. "Ya got a real pretty smile, Katie," he said softly. "Makes ya look just like your ma."

Katie returned Sully's gaze shyly, clutching Brian's sleeve.

"Pa?" Brian said softly. "I'm real sorry our first Wolf ran away when you were missin'."

Sully nodded. "Yeah, me, too."

"I think he was tryin' to find ya," Brian added. "Wouldn't come home until he did."

Sully sat back on the steps. "Sometimes when I was in there...in prison, tryin' to sleep, I'd hear wolves howling into the night."

"Maybe Wolf followed ya all the way out to Arizona," Brian said. "Joined up with a pack somewhere."

"Maybe," Sully said absently.

Brian squeezed Katie's shoulder. "I got some homework t' do for tomorrow. I best get upstairs."

Katie's grin faded and her hold on Brian tightened. "Me, too! I got 'rithmetic."

"What? No ya don't, Kate," Brian told her. "Ya finished this afternoon, remember?"

She swallowed hard, not wanting to be left alone with her father. "...Oh, yeah," she admitted. She thought quickly. "I'll take Wolf for a walk."

"But we just took her for a walk before supper," Brian insisted. "Why don't ya sit with Pa on the porch."

"Won't do no harm to walk her again, Brian," Sully said. As much as he would love it if Katie sat with him, the idea clearly made the child uneasy and he didn't want to force it.

Brian shrugged, turning to go inside. "I s'pose."

"It's gettin' dark, Kates," Sully said. "You and Wolf don't go too far."

Katie replied with a quick, small nod. "Come on, Wolfy," she called, clapping her hands. "Let's go for a walk."

Sully watched her skip off, her fair locks flying, Wolf barking at her heels.

"Where's Katie going in such a hurry?" Michaela asked, stepping out onto the porch with two cups of coffee.

"Takin' Wolf for a walk," Sully told her as she handed him one of the cups. "Thanks."

"Did you tell her to stay within calling distance?" Michaela pressed. "She likes to meander off into the woods by herself and I don't like it. Not without one of us with her."

He nodded. "I know. I told her not to go too far." He shifted uncomfortably as she took a seat on the steps beside him. It had been about a week since he had discovered her writing to Cal, but neither had spoken a word about it since. In fact, they spoke very little about anything at all. He wasn't even sure if she had actually mailed the letter.

"Byron ready for bed?" Sully asked.

"Not yet. He wanted you to help him change," she said softly, bringing her cup to her lips.

"He did?" Sully asked, eyebrows raised.

"Hm-hm." She let out her breath, determined not to feel left out. That was only natural, her son preferring his father when it came to such matters. It was only going to take some getting used to. "I told him you'll come inside when we're done with our coffee. He's at the kitchen table with his watercolors again. He made me promise to hang his picture up in the clinic when he's finished."

"The clinic walls are never gonna look nicer," he said with a smile.

She nodded, sipping at her coffee. They sat in silence for a few minutes, enjoying the quiet twilight.

"Sure is a nice night," Sully finally said. "Not even that cold."

She gazed at him out of the corner of her eye, a fond memory returning to her. "We used to sit out here every night, remember?" she began softly. "After supper, while the children were finishing their homework and getting ready for bed."

He smiled. "Yeah, I sure do."

"We'd talk about our day over coffee, or just sit and look up at the stars," she said whimsically. "Even after Katie was born, we'd always make time for this."

He nodded, gazing up at the sky. Often in prison, the memory of sitting on the porch, Michaela in his arms, had pulled him through another otherwise hopeless day. "We'd look for shootin' stars, remember that?"

Michaela followed his gaze. "...And you'd give your wishes to me," she murmured.

"What'd ya wish for, Michaela?" he asked.

"The same thing every time, Sully." Tears filled her eyes. "...That it would never end."

He turned to look at her, not sure how to respond. At last, he shifted closer to her and put his arm around her back lovingly. She smiled through her tears, resting her head against his shoulder. For the time being, she could put all their quarrels behind them and relish in how wonderful it felt to be back in Sully's embrace.

A minute later Byron scurried out onto the porch, all smiles. "Papa! Mama! I'm done!" He proudly held up a portrait of circles and scribbles, a damp paintbrush clutched in one fist. "Look!"

Michaela's eyes widened in dismay. Byron's clothes and face were splattered with various colors. He had even managed to splash yellow paint in his hair.

Sully's mouth dropped open. "Byron, what happened?"

Byron looked up at him questioningly. "I painted a picture, Papa. Do ya like it?"

"But how'd ya get yourself so covered in paint?" Sully pressed, standing up.

Byron looked down at his overalls, frowning as he noticed the paint stains for the first time. "...I..I dunno." He held up his picture higher. "Do ya like it? I'm givin' it to Mama."

Michaela covered her mouth, suppressing a smile as she rose to her feet. "Oh, for heavens sake," she muttered, unable to scold her son after seeing his innocent expression. "Let's get you back inside." The little boy reached up to grab the doorknob and Michaela instantly reacted, grabbing his wrist and holding it firmly. "No, no. Don't touch anything," she told him.

"Do I get a story now, Mama?" Byron asked.

"No, you do not get a story," Michaela said. "What you're getting is a royal bathing, Byron Calvin Sully."

Sully drew in his breath as he looked from Michaela to Byron.

Michaela paused in her steps. Byron's middle name hadn't come up since Sully's return. She had been waiting for just the right time to explain it. Now with a slip of the tongue, it was out in the open for better or worse. It was hardly how she had planned. "Sully-" she began uncertainly.

"... I don't understand," he whispered.

"Please, it's not what you think." She shook her head. "The circumstances were so different than what you're thinking."

"I'm thinkin' ya had just met him," he retorted calmly, grasping the porch railing. "Ya had just met him, hadn't ya? Why ... how could ya name our son after him?"

"I named him after his papa," she replied.

Byron looked up at his mother, then at Sully. "Will ya help me with my bath, Papa?" he spoke up timidly.

"You go on inside with your ma," he murmured, stepping down the stairs. "She'll get ya cleaned up."

"Sully, don't," Michaela called. "Please, I want us to talk about this." She sighed, watching him take off to the woods.

"Mama, how come Papa's mad at us?" Byron asked, tugging at Michaela's skirts.

"He's not mad, sweetheart. He's just...hurt," she told him quietly. She opened the door. "Come on. Let's get your bath."

to be continued...


	53. Chapter 66

Chapter Sixty-six

&"Come here, Kates," Sully called, standing at the edge of the creek, holding out his arms. Michaela and Katie were barefoot, wading in the cool water, Katie's little hands clasped firmly in her mother's. She giggled, toddling toward Sully, dragging Michaela behind her. The little girl had been walking for several weeks, though was not yet too steady without the assistance of a piece of furniture or the hand of her mother or father. Still, she persevered with the stubbornness of both parents combined, and had bruises and scrapes on her knees to prove it.

Katie at last reached Sully and let go of her mother, falling into his embrace. Sully lifted her above his head, then dipped her feet in the water, laughing.

"That cold?" he chuckled. Katie beamed, clapping her hands.

"She loves the water," Michaela crooned, joining the two and tickling Katie's chin.

Katie splashed with her arms elatedly, looking up at Sully. "Pa!"

"She said it again, Michaela," Sully said proudly. "Hear it?"

"Yes. She wants her papa to splash, too," Michaela told him wryly.

Sully smiled mischievously, dipped his hands into the water and gently splashed water on the little girl. She screamed happily, pumping her arms harder. He swooped her up from the water and kissed her rosy cheek. "Mmm, I love ya, sweet girl," he murmured. He smiled at his wife as she wrapped her arm around his waist. "Both my girls."&

Sully stared unfocused as the creek water flowed past him. He squatted down, dipping his fingers in the chilly water. He would give anything to go back to that warm spring afternoon. He and Michaela would often bring little Katie out to this spot at the creek. It was a special place for just the three of them. They would help Katie toddle along the bank, watching her fascination over the simplest things: an old pile of leaves, a caterpillar, a patch of sticky mud. They would wade in the water and afterward nap on a blanket under the warm sun. They rediscovered the world as Katie learned about it for the first time. Sully remembered thinking he had never felt so happy and at peace.

He rubbed his eyes with his fingers, wondering if they would ever know that carefree time again.

Michaela was right. She had never asked him to push Abigail out of his life. She had always trusted him and had never given him reason to believe she felt threatened by Abigail's memory. It wasn't that he didn't want to give Michaela the same freedom with Cal's memory. He wanted to trust her, too, but it scared him. He constantly wondered if Michaela was keeping contact with Cal, if she thought about him, if she missed him. He wondered if she might be happier had she stayed with him. Four years was indeed a long time. Perhaps too long.

Cal's presence was constant. Katie pined for him, that was obvious. Brian, who tried so hard to make Sully feel like things were back to normal, had nonetheless grown into a man with Cal by his side, and Sully couldn't get that back. And Byron...Byron's name would forever keep Cal with them.

He looked up at the sky, blue eyes filled with sorrow and frustration. "Please, give us the strength to get through this," he murmured. "Help Michaela know how much I love her, how much I want it t' work." He lowered his head, a single tear dripping down his cheek. "Give me patience with Katie." He inhaled deeply. "I don't care how long it takes. I promise I won't give up on 'er. Help her see that." He spread his fingers, letting the water flow between them. "Help her see her pa's here for her from now on, like he's always wanted to be." He sat in silence for a moment, then was startled by a sudden movement a hundred yards into the woods. He turned quickly, fingers grazing the handle of his tomahawk, then growing limp as he met the eyes of his little girl.

He opened his mouth, ready to reproach her for going so far into the woods, but instead he paused, standing up. Wolf was sitting protectively by her side, ready to spring into action should the child find herself in trouble. Sully walked towards the two, keeping his eyes focused on Katie's. At last, he reached her side. "What're ya doin' way out here?" he asked hoarsely. "You and Wolf take your walk?"

Katie glanced at the creek. She would often drag her brothers here to play. Brian had recently talked about building her a tree house nearby for her birthday. It had always been her favorite spot, though her other siblings saw nothing special with the place.

Sully followed her gaze. "Your ma and me ... we used to bring ya out here," he began. "Remember that? I s'pose ya wouldn't. That's all right."

She looked back up at him, then without warning, quietly took his hand.

Sully breathed a sigh, moved. "Katie," he murmured, squeezing her hand lovingly. He bit back tears. "... Let's go home, sweet girl."

& & &

"'Night, Papa," Byron said, hugging his father's neck.

Sully closed his eyes and kissed Byron's cheek. "G'night, Byron. I love ya."

Michaela dimmed the lamp and Sully followed her out the door, leaving it a crack open.

"Ya got him pretty clean," Sully remarked nervously.

She grinned softly. "No small miracle." She bit her lip, then turned toward the master bedroom door. "Well, goodnight."

"G'night," he murmured. He stepped forward. "Michaela, wait."

She turned slowly. "Sully, it's all right."

"No, it ain't. I wanna talk about his name, too," he said. He took a deep breath. "No, what I mean is ... I wanna listen."

& & &

"I didn't know the accident was that bad," Sully murmured, seated at Michaela feet. "Just the two of you?"

She leaned forward in the wingback chair, stroking his hair. "Just a stranger and I in the middle of nowhere. Sully, I don't think I even would have even been able to get out of the stagecoach had Cal not been there. I was terrified. I could barely begin to sort my emotions. I hadn't expected to survive, but somehow I did, and the baby, too."

He nodded slowly, digesting her words.

"I didn't want our son, do you understand that? I was prepared to die in the accident and take our child with me. It was incredibly selfish, but it's how I felt."

He tensed, reaching up to take her hand.

"I thought how much happier I would be if I joined you. You and I and the baby could be together. When that didn't happen I felt ... lost, even angry. But before I could think, our son was set on coming and there was nothing I could do to stop him. Cal wanted to fetch a doctor right away but I didn't think there was time and I ... I suppose I was afraid to be left alone." She squeezed his hand. "So he found us shelter and did his best to keep me comfortable, and then the next morning our baby was in my arms. By the grace of God our child was here and all I wanted to do was love him as much as I could, teach him about how wonderful his father was, and help him grow up to be as kind and honest a man as you." She brought their hands to her lips, kissing his fingers. "I named him Byron Calvin because you and Cal gave me our son, in the process giving me a reason to go on, and I thought the least I could do was honor both of you in that way."

He inhaled shakily. "I ... " he began, then trailed off. "I'm glad he took good care of ya."

"Oh, Sully," she murmured. "All I wanted was you. All I wanted was you." She caressed his shoulder. "We thought we had the hemorrhaging under control, but later in the morning, it started again, and it wouldn't stop. Just when we finally had our son, I thought he was going to be without a mother, too. Cal did his best to keep me calm and focused on the baby and staying strong for him, but it became clear we needed help. He ran nearly four miles to the next town for a doctor...but you were what I really needed ..."

&"She's over here," Cal said, leading a tall, graying man across the room to the cot, followed by a young nurse. He dropped to his knees, taking Michaela's hand. "Wake up, Michaela," he urged, out of breath. "I'm back, just like I promised. Come on, wake up."

Her eyelids fluttered weakly. "Cal."

The doctor picked up a whimpering Byron and handed him over to the nurse. "Take the baby," he instructed. Michaela turned her eyes toward the nurse as she walked toward the table with the baby.

"Michaela, this is Dr. Holmes," Cal said, bare chest damp with sweat. "We're gonna bring ya back to his clinic over in Larkspur."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Quinn," the doctor said, unclasped his medical bag as he noted her lethargy and cool, pale skin. "I've read several of your ... fascinating articles. Indian potions and the like, is that right?" He tore the covers up over her bent knees. "...Good God," he murmured.

"It looks like more than it is, right?" Cal pressed. "She's gonna be all right, ain't she?"

"That child certainly did a fine job on his mother," he said, digging in his bag. "She'll need several stitches. I don't suppose you thought about trying a warm compress to help her stretch. Or you might have applied counter pressure to the baby's head."

"I'm sorry. I didn't know I was supposed to," Cal said guiltily. "I don't know a thing about it. That's why I came to get you."

"Well, there's no time to move her," he said. "...Dr. Quinn, you should have sought my assistance at the first signs of labor," he scolded, shaking his head as he rolled his shirtsleeves up to his elbows. "And why didn't you ask this young man for a compress? Or heaven forbid control yourself and wait for help!"

"When you've given birth, doctor, then you can talk to me about controlling myself," Michaela whispered.

"Don't listen to that, Michaela," Cal said. "You're gonna be fine." He smoothed her hair from her brow. "Shh. You did everything just right."

"...I wish Sully were here," she choked tearfully. "Why isn't he here? Sully. Oh, God."

Cal felt a lump in his throat. "Shh, I know. I wish he was here, too." He swiped at her tears. "Just close your eyes, hm? Doc's gonna take good care of ya. You feeling any pain, Michaela?"

"No, I'm all right now. I just want to go home, Cal," she murmured. "Please, I want to go home."

"Yeah, I know," he replied. "You and the baby'll be home real soon."

"Why are you two all the way out here in the first place?" the doctor demanded. "This is no place to bring a child into the world-"

"Is the baby all right?" Michaela asked, struggling once more to see past the nurse to her son. "Oh, don't cry, sweetheart. Mama's here. Mama's right here. Oh, is he all right?"

"He's doing just fine, ma'am," the nurse called reassuringly. "He has healthy lungs." She had laid Byron on the table, unwrapped Cal's shirt from him and was replacing the clamp on his cord with a sterile piece of string from the doctor's bag. Cold and unhappy, Byron's whimpers had progressed to brisk squalls.

"Cal, go with the baby," Michaela told him, patting his arm.

"I'll stay here with you, Michaela," he said.

"I'm fine. Go with Byron," she insisted. "He's frightened. Let him know you're here. Please? I don't want him to ever feel alone...It's a terrible feeling."

Reluctantly, Cal joined the nurse at the table. "How's he doing?" he asked, stroking Byron's head. "Oh, it's all right, little guy. Me and Mama are here."

"He'll be better once we get him in a diaper and a decent blanket," the nurse said.

"It was the best we had," Cal replied, fingering the bloodstained, flannel shirt the nurse had unwrapped from the baby and set aside.

"If you ask me you did everything right, too," she whispered kindly. "The point is you and your wife have a healthy son. Congratulations."

"Oh, no, I'm not the father," Cal told her softly.

She blinked, perplexed.

"His pa's passed on," Cal murmured. "Eight months ago."

"Oh, my. Then who are you?" the nurse asked.

He smiled. "It's a long story."

"Nurse, bring the baby back over here," Dr. Holmes ordered. "Quickly."

"What's wrong?" Cal asked worriedly.

"...Let's have you try to breastfeed him," the doctor told Michaela softly. She gave a weak nod as the nurse laid Byron across her chest and helped her unfasten the buttons on her camisole.

"We aren't sure why, but sometimes it helps slow the hemorrhaging," the nurse explained to Cal.

"And bring a glass of water," the doctor instructed, glancing at the nurse. "We certainly don't need her dehydrated, too."

Cal took the doctor's arm and led him a few steps away. "Please, doc. She's gotta pull through. She's all that little guy has. Tell me she's gonna be all right."

He patted Cal's back. "You can stop worrying, son. She will be, though not a moment too soon. You saved the poor girl's life." He nodded at the door. "Why don't you wait outside? We'll get she and the baby cleaned up and presentable."

"No, I'm staying with her," Cal said. "I promised myself I'd stay with her 'til we know she's all right."

He sighed, folding his arms. "...If you must, but sit up by her head out of the way...and... hold her hand. I'd prefer it if she remain conscious for this."&

Sully was silent a long moment, letting Michaela's words sink in. His wife had struggled long and hard with his disappearance. The son he left behind brought happiness to her sorrowful existence, giving her a reason to hang on. Despite everything, Sully felt he owed Cal something for that.

He reached up and tenderly caressed her knee. "Michaela, I'm so sorry."

She put her hand atop his. "Please, don't be angry about Byron's name. I wanted to tell you about it for the longest time. I wanted you to understand."

"I ain't angry anymore," he whispered. "I just wish I was there. I needed to be there and I wasn't. I let ya down." He turned and stood, taking her hands and drawing her to her feet. "Michaela, I'm sorry for everythin'."

"It's all right," she whispered. "I'm sorry, too."

"No," he replied. "I mean ... for everythin'. About gettin' into the mess I did with O'Connor and the army. Disappearin' for four years ... " He choked up. "Not bein' there when ya needed me."

She wrapped her arms around him tightly. "It wasn't your fault, Sully. It wasn't your fault." She closed her eyes. "At the time you didn't know helping the Indians would lead to what it did. You're a man of principles. I want our sons to grow up to be the same kind of men. Perhaps I too was angry at first, but not anymore. It's no one's fault, do you understand? You only did what you thought was right."

He took her cheeks in her hands. "Maybe at the time I thought it was. Now, other things are more important. You and the kids, there's nothin' more important to me."

She looked up hopefully. "You're not going to take provisions to the reservation anymore?" she asked softly.

He sighed. "Michaela ... we've talked about this. It's different. Not like what happened four years ago. It's different than before."

"There has to be another way, Sully," she insisted. "A way that doesn't go behind the army's back, that isn't so dangerous. Different or not what you're doing is still dangerous." She paused, swallowing. " ... I'm sorry. We've had this discussion before, I know."

He took a deep breath. "Yeah. S'pose we didn't get very far that time either. Michaela ... I s'pose...I s'pose we could try talkin' to the reverend, if ya think it would help."

She drew in her breath, surprised. At last she nodded. "I'd like that."

He kissed her brow. "Seems if we really want this to work, I might have to set aside some pride."

She smiled. "We'll help each other."

" ... Our little girl, she smiled at me just like that today," he said, stroking her cheek.

Her smile widened. "She did? Oh, Sully."

"Reached up and took my hand, too," he added, encouraged.

Tears came to her eyes. "That's so wonderful."

"Do ya think Katie'll ever speak to me, Michaela?" he asked softly. "...If only I could hear 'Pa' again. That's all I want."

"I know," she replied.

He held her to him again, closing his eyes and inhaling the sweet smell of her hair.

"I know," she murmured once more.

& & &

Sully lifted Michaela from the wagon to the ground, glancing up at the church hesitantly. Michaela left one hand lingering on his shoulder and squeezed it reassuringly.

"Ready?" she asked.

" ... Yep," he replied softly, eyes still on the church.

"This is going to help us, Sully," she whispered. "I know it will."

He nodded, hoping with all his might she was right. As much as talking with the Reverend made him uncomfortable, he felt willing to try it, if only because Michaela believed in it so. It couldn't really do them any harm, he supposed. He took her hand. " ... Let's get inside."

& & &

"Eight pounds corn meal, ten pounds flour, three pounds salt," Brian said, holding a small piece of paper next to the lamp at the kitchen table.

"Better leave out the salt this time," Sully said, seated next to him, a pencil in hand.

"But they need it," Brian protested.

Sully pulled the list towards himself and crossed off the salt. "I can't scrape together enough this week to afford all that. Robert E.'s got a few odd jobs for me to do but nothin' that's gonna take all week."

Brian hesitated. "You could ask Ma to help out, too," he said boldly, casting an eye upstairs where Michaela was getting the younger children ready for bed.

"We can't do that, Brian," Sully replied. "You know how she feels about us goin' out to the reservation."

"I guess," Brian murmured reluctantly as Byron came into the kitchen in wool socks and a button down night shift.

Sully looked up with a smile as the child ran to him and climbed into his lap. "Ready for bed, Byron?" he asked.

The little boy nodded. "Mama said I can come down and ask you to tuck me in and she's gonna go tuck in Katie now."

Sully smiled and kissed his head. "Sure. We're almost done here and then I'll be right up."

"What about beans, Pa?" Brian spoke up, resting one elbow on the table. "We could get a few pounds of those, couldn't we? They can't cost as much as salt."

Sully nodded approvingly. "That's a good idea. We can manage one or two pounds of those." He licked the tip of his pencil and added beans to the bottom of their list.

"You write nice, Papa," Byron spoke up admiringly.

Sully chuckled, gripping his arm. "Ya think so?"

"I want to write words like that," Byron said. "I'm big now, even Gran'ma said. I can write like Katie and Brian."

"Ya gotta learn your letters first, son," Sully told him. "There's a lot of those."

"Twenty-six of 'em," Brian added helpfully, patting his little brother's hand.

"I will learn them," Byron said confidently. "I want to. Please?"

Sully eyed him curiously. "I could teach ya how to write your name if you want, Byron," he offered. "We'll start there, how's that?"

The little boy looked up at him hopefully. "You will teach me, Papa? I can write 'Byron' and then show Mama I can write?"

"You could make it a surprise for Ma," Brian suggested. "Maybe paint her another picture, B., and then write your name on it."

"Yeah, and then I can go to school like big kids," Byron said assertively.

"We'll see," Sully said, giving him the pencil to hold. "You know school's real important, son, when you're ready. We got a nice schoolhouse and a good teacher right here in town, and I want all of ya to learn as much as ya can. When you're grown, then ya'll have a lot more choices."

"You didn't get much schoolin', did ya Pa?" Brian asked.

He shook his head. "My teacher didn't pay much mind to anybody who needed more help with somethin'. She had a lot of kids to look after. I stopped goin' before I was twelve, too busy workin' on the docks. I was glad to be done with it then." He picked up the list, putting it in Byron's hands. "I was taught what I know by Cloud Dancin' and the other Cheyenne. Doin' this for them, bringin' 'em food, that's part of what I learned, that ya help out your family when they need ya, and they'd do the same for you. There's things to learn from both books and from people like the Cheyenne." He gazed at his sons one at a time, putting his arm around Brian and caressing Byron's shoulder. "I want ya each to have both. I want ya to see they're both important."

Brian smiled. "We know, Pa. We want that, too."

"Yeah, me, too," Byron spoke up.

"They'll be plenty of time for that, but first we gotta get you to bed!" Sully said, tickling the little boy's chest as he curled up and screamed with delight.

& & &

Michaela knocked on the door of the sheriff's office, one hand balancing two tin plates covered with red-checked cloths, the other clasped with Sully's.

"It's open!" Matthew called from his desk.

Sully reached in front of his wife and turned the doorknob, following her inside.

"Dr. Mike, Sully," Matthew said, putting down his pencil and removing his feet from the desk. "Afternoon."

"Matthew," Michaela replied. "We just finished eating lunch at Grace's. She told us you asked if she would make a plate for your prisoner." She glanced at the single cell across the room, where a dark-haired, doe-eyed young man sat silently on the cot, hands resting on his knees.

"Figured since we were headed this way we'd bring it over," Sully put in, eyes focused on the quiet prisoner. He was clean-shaven, lanky, and couldn't have been much more than eighteen. "Kids are outside waitin' in the wagon."

"Oh, and a plate for you, Matthew," Michaela added, placing one of the meals on his desk. She realized a bit awkwardly that Sully's hand had suddenly grown cool and uncomfortably damp in hers.

"I appreciate it," Matthew said, lifting the cloth and taking a whiff of the chicken and biscuits. He looked back up, dropping the cloth. "Got plans for this afternoon?"

"Just some shopping at the mercantile," Michaela replied softly, casually releasing Sully's hand.

Matthew nodded, picking up his pencil absently.

Sully drew in his breath, eyes still on the prisoner. "What'd he do?"

Matthew scratched his cheek, glancing at Sully and then the prisoner. "Horse theft," he said. "He'll go to trial next Monday when the circuit judge arrives."

"Are you hungry?" Michaela asked the young man, turning to him. "We brought you some lunch."

She took a step toward the cell, and Sully instantly grabbed her arm, preventing her from approaching any farther. "I got it," he muttered, taking the plate from her.

"I'm just going to put it outside the bars," she protested. "Sully, he's just a boy."

"I said I got it," he replied more sternly, guiding her to stand back behind him by the desk.

Shooting a questioning gaze at Matthew, Michaela obeyed, lingering where she was while Sully slowly approached the cell, plate in hand.

"How long ya been in here?" Sully asked.

The boy rose to his feet, walking towards him. "A few days, sir," he said hoarsely. "... I didn't do it. I swear I didn't," he blurted.

"We caught ya red-handed, Larson," Matthew said, standing up. "Got three witnesses includin' myself saw ya try to ride off with one of Robert E's mares from the corral." He cleared his throat. "Sully, he's as guilty as they come. Just give him his meal."

The young man stared at his feet, growing silent again.

Slowly, Sully bent to his knees and placed the plate on the floor, pressing it against the bars. He looked back up at the prisoner to discover tears brimming in his eyes, threatening to spill past his thin dark lashes. The boy was plain scared of what could happen to him in only a few days time. He was plain scared that everything he ever wanted for his life could all go to ruin with this one mistake. Sully recognized the fear in his eyes. He knew the hopelessness that made the boy's heart sink against his chest.

Suddenly all the terror Sully thought he had effectively suppressed came flooding back, and it was not the boy that was standing in the cell, but himself, filthy, alone, frightened he had lost Michaela forever. He grabbed the bars to steady himself and pressed his head against them, closing his eyes and breathing quickly.

"Sully?" Michaela called, her voice sounding thin and far away to him. Matthew grasped her arm, keeping her from moving.

Sully gripped the bars harder, swept back to those long years when he had to fight for air, fight to keep Michaela and all they had shared alive. She was all that got him through each day he had spent in the prison, and he had been so frightened of losing the memories, afraid if he lost those, then he would be lost, too.

"Sully, what's wrong?" Michaela said determinedly. She wanted to go to him, hold him and comfort him, but was frightened to move from where he had told her to stay. The last time she had tried to help, he had whipped out his tomahawk on her. The coolness of the blade of the weapon against her neck, the strength of his fingers gripping the handle, was still all too vivid.

"Michaela," he whispered distantly, opening his eyes a sliver and struggling to focus through his pain.

Michaela could stand it no longer. She broke away from Matthew and hurried to his side, grabbing his arm. "Sully, I'm here," she said passionately. "What is it? Please. Tell me."

He shook his head quickly, releasing the bars and standing up straight. Without a word he threw open the door and stormed outside, eyes staring straight ahead.

"What was that about?" Matthew questioned. He watched out of the corner of his eye as the prisoner returned to his cot and sat, apparently never having paid mind to Sully's strange demeanor. "Dr. Mike?"

She pressed her lips together, slowly blinking. "I don't know. I-I don't know, Matthew."

He looked out the front window to see Sully climbing up onto the wagon seat and taking the reins. Byron stood up from the back of the wagon and began telling him something. Sully smiled, caressed his hair and listened to him chat as if nothing had happened.

"Some memory of the prison perhaps," Michaela ventured softly. "They come back to him occasionally. At least I think they do. He never wants to talk to me about it."

Matthew rested his hand on her shoulder. "Maybe it would help him to tell ya."

"I know it would," she replied. "But he won't. He absolutely insists on keeping it from me."

"... He wants to protect ya," Matthew whispered.

"No, it's more than that," she replied. "I know he wants to spare me the pain of whatever it was he experienced, but ... it's more than that. I-I just don't know how to help him."

Matthew squeezed her shoulder. "Give it time. Sully trusts ya like nobody else. He'll come to ya when he's ready."

"I hope so," she murmured.

"Mama! Time to go!" Byron called from the wagon, one arm around his father.

Matthew smiled. "Thanks for bringin' lunch over, Dr. Mike. I'll see you around town."

"You're welcome, Matthew," she replied. "And ... thank you."

& & &

"They grow out of their boots faster than we can keep up," Michaela said, lifting Katie onto the store counter.

"They certainly are gettin' big," Dorothy chuckled. "And you have a birthday comin' up in a few weeks, don't you, Miss Katie?"

Katie giggled, nodding as she held out six fingers. "I'm gonna be six."

"I'm four," Byron said proudly as Sully lifted him up beside his sister.

Dorothy smiled. "Four! Why, Mr. Sully, you've grown into a man before I could blink an eye!"

Loren came padding down the stairs and maneuvered around several men and women shopping, at last reaching the Sully's, two pairs of shiny black boots tucked under his arms. "Here ya go. Try these," he said, placing the boots on the counter.

"What took you so long, Loren?" Dorothy asked.

"All these customers," he grumbled, nodding behind him. "I'm always runnin' around stockin' shelves, weighin' candy, writin' in the ledger ... gettin' boots in the storeroom."

"It does seem quite crowded in here lately," Michaela admitted, removing Katie's shoes and helping her into the new boots.

"I could help ya, Mr. Bray," Katie offered sweetly.

"Me, too," Byron put in as Sully laced up his boots.

Loren smiled faintly. "Aw, you two can't hardly see over my counter. Don't know how much use ya'd be." He touched his finger to Katie's chin. "You have a couple more birthdays and then we'll see."

Katie grinned. "All right."

"I got a sign in the window askin' for help," he said. "Hopin' maybe a couple school boys'll want to stock shelves for an extra few dollars a week."

"That sounds like a good idea," Michaela said.

"Mr. Bray!" a woman called impatiently, a basket tucked under her arm. "You're plum out of salt, Mr. Bray. How am I s'posed to cook anything without salt?"

"I got some more in back. Hold your horses," he grumbled. He nodded at Michaela and Sully. "You holler if ya need anymore help."

"Mr. Bway sure is busy," Byron remarked, watching him go.

"Sure is," Sully murmured. He lifted the little boy to the ground. "How those feel, son?"

"Good! Not tight no more!" he replied.

"Good. Take some steps. Try 'em out." He glanced at Katie. "How 'bout you, Kates? Those feel better?" Gently, he lifted her to the floor. "You try 'em out, too. You and Byron walk across the room and back."

"You come with us, Papa," Byron said, reaching up to take his hand. "Try out your boots, too."

Sully squeezed his hand. "All right. If ya want."

Dorothy turned to Michaela, brow creased. "... Katie's still not speaking to Sully?" she whispered.

Michaela sobered. "I'm afraid not. Before she didn't even like Sully to come near her. Now she's a little more receptive. But no, not a word yet."

Dorothy sighed. "He must feel terrible. She was so attached to him as a baby."

"I know," Michaela murmured. "Sully and I, we've been talking with the reverend for a few weeks now. I think it's been going well so far. The reverend thought we might bring Katie with us sometime. Perhaps he could help her adjust, too."

"It's worth a try," Dorothy said.

"I suppose," Michaela replied. "But we can only push her so much."

"These are good, Mama," Byron said, emerging from the crowd of customers and hugging her legs. Michaela picked him up, putting him on her hip. "Well, let's get them then, shall we?" She walked to the counter, Sully and Katie behind her. They waited patiently for Loren to take care of a few customers and finally he joined them at the counter, pulling out his cash box.

"Could ya charge these, Loren?" Sully asked.

The storekeeper frowned, reaching for his ledger.

"No," Michaela said, opening her drawstring purse, "we'll pay cash this time."

Sully grasped her arm. "What're ya doin'?"

"Sully, we shouldn't charge them if we can pay for them now," she explained quietly. "It's all right. We have enough."

"I wanna pay for 'em," he said. "Put it on our account."

She reached into her purse impatiently. "Don't be silly. We owe Loren enough not to add these to the list, too." She glanced at him. "I thought we agreed before we were married that what we make belongs to both of us. Why are you so suddenly troubled by this now?"

"I agreed we'd share everythin'. But now you're payin' for it all," he said. "I don't want ya doin' that. I can take care of us, too."

Two jars on the counter filled with bright colored marbles caught Byron's eye. "Mama, look!"

Loren smiled. "Just got these in yesterday, Byron. Thought of you when I put 'em out."

He beamed, swinging his legs eagerly. "Cal taught me how to play and I'm good at them now. Can I get some? Please, Mama? Please?"

"No, Brynie, not today," Michaela murmured.

Loren glanced anxiously at two women bickering over the last can of lye. "So will ya be payin' for these up front, Dr. Mike...?"

Michaela closed her eyes, drawing her purse closed. "Add them to our account please."

Sully put his hand on her back. "Michaela, don't worry. I'm gonna find steady work. I'll pay it off."

She nodded, taking Katie's hand. "Let's go home."

Sully followed the three out the door, then suddenly paused. "Wait for me in the wagon," he called. "I'll be right back."

Michaela gave Katie a hand up into the back and boosted Byron onto the seat.

"What's Papa doin', Mama?" Byron spoke.

"I don't know," Michaela replied, climbing up onto the seat beside him. "He's stubborn sometimes, unfortunately. I suppose we both can be. Papa's stubbornness is one of the reasons I fell in love with him ... but it also makes me very frustrated sometimes."

"Do ya think I could have some of them marbles?" Byron asked, pointing at the store.

"You have plenty of marbles at home," she reminded him.

"But I want some more. I want lots and lots."

"Mama and Papa can't afford marbles for you every time you want some more," she told him gently. "Play with what you have for now."

He sighed. "All right. Do ya think I could teach Papa how to play, too?"

Michaela put her arm around him. "Yes, definitely. I think he'd love to learn."

Sully caught up with Loren, who had three shopping lists in hand and was desperately trying to fill orders for grumpy customers.

"Hey, Loren," he called. "About that job?"

Loren pulled down two boxes of baking soda from one of the shelves. "What job?"

"You know, stockin' shelves," Sully said, standing tall. "I'll take it."

"You? Aw, Sully, you don't wanna work for me," Loren said, moving his stool to the next shelf over.

He shuffled awkwardly. "Sure I do."

"Find work someplace else, Sully," Loren said gently.

He grasped Loren's arm. "Look, I could work faster an' harder than a schoolboy, and I could be here durin' the day."

Loren hesitated. "It's five dollars a week, that's all I can offer right now."

Sully extended his hand. "That's fair."

Loren reluctantly shook with him. "...Be here tomorrow at nine then," he said. "Don't be late."

"No, I won't," Sully replied. "Loren? Thanks. I really need this."

Loren eyed his Indian beads and buckskins. "Sully, just try an' show up with somethin' ... a little more fittin' for my mercantile. Can't have ya scarin' away the customers."

to be continued...


	54. Chapter 67

Chapter Sixty-seven

Sully put a plate of pancakes a foot high on the kitchen table, then came behind Byron and helped him tuck his napkin in his shirt collar.

"It's just it don't seem like the kind of job ya'd really like," Brian said. He stuck his fork into a pancake and put it on Katie's plate. "Work is work, Brian," Sully replied. "Times are tough. Ya can't be too hard to please or ya'll end up not workin' at all."

"Well, ya can't like wearing those clothes," Brian said, dishing up three pancakes for himself and pouring syrup over them.

"Never said I did," Sully said, unbuttoning the top button of his shirt and tugging at the ends of his vest.

"Who's gonna play with me when you're at Mr. Bway's, Papa?" Byron asked, mouth full.

Sully paused. He hadn't thought of that. He usually looked after Byron while Michaela was at the clinic. Now that he was working too he wouldn't be able to stay home with the child, and he certainly couldn't keep a good eye on him at the busy mercantile. "I s'pose you'll have to spend the day with Dorothy or Grace or at the clinic with your ma, Byron."

"But I was gonna play marbles with ya, Papa!" Byron replied.

Sully caressed his head. "We'll do it another time, I promise."

Michaela came into the kitchen, medical bag in hand, and stopped short, eyeing her husband. "Sully, what are you wearing?" she asked, taken aback.

He turned to the stove, embarrassed. "I, uh-"

"Papa can't wear beads no more. That's 'cause he's working at Mr. Bway's now," Byron explained.

"Got a job at the mercantile," Sully said. "Ya want some breakfast?"

She sat at the table. "At Loren's? Not the shelf-stocking job."

"That's the one," Sully said.

"Pa says work is work," Brian spoke up. "Ya gotta take what ya can get nowadays."

"What happened to helping out Robert E.?" Michaela asked, drawing in her breath. It seemed she was the last person to find out about Sully's new job. In the past, she and Sully would have discussed something like this before any decisions were made. It was yet another reminder of how much things had changed, how hard it was for them to talk about anything.

"Robert E. can't afford to pay me very much no more," Sully explained. "Money's tight for everybody."

"But surely you could look for work you enjoy," Michaela insisted.

"Not unless I leave town," he said quietly. "Michaela...this is only temporary. Maybe somethin' will open up in a little while."

"I suppose." She stood up and came beside him. "Thank you for cooking breakfast." She glanced at Katie, puzzled. "Who braided your hair, sweetheart?"

Sully smiled. "I did. Got the kids washed up and dressed, too. Brian helped me out."

Michaela smiled back. "Why, thank you. Both of you."

Byron stuck his fork in a pancake. "Know what, Papa? These are pretty good, but they not as good as Cal's. Those were the bestest."

"B.!" Brian scolded.

Michaela rested her hand on Byron's shoulder. "Finish your breakfast," she murmured. She glanced at Sully, who had busied himself with rinsing the skillet in the sink. "Your collar's crooked," she said softly, turning him toward her and taking it in her hands. "I'm sorry, Sully. It's just, you don't dress like this very often ..."

"It's all right," he murmured, swallowing. "I feel about as foolish in this getup as I probably look."

"There, that's better," she whispered, finishing with his collar. "And I think you look handsome."

He smiled faintly, touching her cheek. In response she stood on her toes and gave his lips a small kiss.

Byron tilted his head back, giggling. "Cal and Mama did that!" he announced.

"Byron, what's the matter with ya?" Brian scolded, resting his fork across his plate. "Why ya sayin' those things?"

Byron looked at his older brother, blinking. "What? What'd I do?"

Sully circled around the table, eyes unfocused. "I'll get the wagon hitched."

"Sully, don't walk away again," Michaela pleaded. "... He doesn't understand."

"We're gonna be late, Michaela," he replied, grabbing his jacket and heading out the door.

Brian watched as Sully left, then turned back to the table, giving his brother's shoulder a shove.

Byron let out a dramatic yelp, clutching his shoulder. "Hey! That hurt, Brian!"

"Well, ya can't talk about Cal, B.!" Brian said firmly. "Ya went an' hurt pa's feelin's!"

"He hit me, Mama!" the little boy whimpered.

Michaela stood between the boys. "Brian, don't do that to your brother."

"But, Ma, he said-"

"I heard what he said," she replied, "but we don't lash out at others in this house no matter what reason we have. Go upstairs and get your schoolbooks."

"...Fine," he grumbled, pulling out his chair and pushing it back in forcefully.

Byron watched him go, breathing deeply. "He hit me, Mama," he whispered.

Michaela sat in Brian's chair, glancing at Katie, who was silently watching her, breakfast forgotten.

"Byron," she began, rubbing his back, "do you remember when Cal and Mama had our wedding, we talked about what married means?"

"... Yeah," he murmured.

"Well, married, that's what Papa and I are now. That is ... we always were. We've talked about this. About how Sully and I are husband and wife and so we do things that married people do."

"Like kissin'?" Katie spoke up.

"That's right, like kissing," Michaela replied. "And living together in the homestead, and doing things with all of us as a family."

"How come you and Cal aren't having married no more?" Byron asked.

Michaela smoothed back his hair. "Well, because Cal and I had an annulment. It's a piece of paper that says we aren't husband and wife anymore, and that I'm back to being married with Papa. I know it's hard to understand. I want you to ask if you have any questions."

"You and Papa married now," Byron whispered.

"That's right," Michaela affirmed.

Katie leaned forward in her chair. "Then how come he doesn't sleep in your room, like Cal did?"

Byron nodded in agreement. "Yeah. Papa sleeps downstairs! How come? That's a big bed, Mama. Papa could fit, too."

She kissed his head. "Well, that's something Papa and I are working out. For now, let's try to give Papa a chance, all right? Let's try not to compare him to Cal so much." She sighed, struggling to find a way to explain so the children would understand. "Let's give Papa's pancakes a chance before we decide they're not as good. And let's give him time to decide if he likes his new job. Perhaps he'll be more fond of it than we suspect..."

& & &

Hearing the sound of a wagon, Byron rushed across the sitting room and grabbed the ledge of the window, peering outside. "Papa's home!" he squealed.

Michaela turned from the stove to glance outside. "I wonder how his first day was," she said more to herself.

Byron made for the front door, reaching for the knob.

"Brynie-" Michaela began firmly.

"No goin' in the barn," he replied. "I promise."

She sighed. "That's a good boy. Now go say hello to Papa."

Smiling, he ran out to the porch and down the steps, catching up to Sully as he came out of the barn, tearing off his vest vehemently.

Sully's dejected expression instantly brightened. He held out his arms, lifting Byron off his feet. "Hey, son." He kissed his cheek. "Ya have a good afternoon?"

"No," Byron told him. "Mama's clinic is no fun. Let's play marbles now, can we? Can we, please?"

He set him on his feet and took his hand. "That sounds pretty good right now. Just let me get out of these itchy pants and then we'll play."

"Did it go well?" Michaela asked as soon as Sully came in.

He shrugged. "Well, it ... it was all right."

Michaela approached the two, drying her hands on a towel. "Just all right?"

He unbuttoned his shirtsleeves, pushing them up to his elbows. "Yeah, it's just everybody was ... lookin' at me. I s'pose they were wonderin' if it was really me workin' there."

"So let them wonder," Michaela said. "You don't have to explain yourself."

He smiled. "You're right."

"Yeah, let 'em wonder!" Byron added enthusiastically.

Michaela placed the towel over her shoulder and took the little boy from Sully. "Help me stir the gravy while Papa gets changed?"

"I'll just be a minute, Byron," Sully said, tapping his nose. "Go help your ma."

& & &

"So the lady says, 'I've got to have those eggs for my dumplins tonight,'" Sully went on, crouched beside Byron at the base of the porch. "And so I start puttin' 'em in her basket. Then her friend, she comes over, wants to know if that's the last of today's eggs. She says it's her husband's birthday and she promised him a cake."

"Uh-oh," Byron whispered, engrossed in the tale, eyes wide.

"I was thinkin' the same thing," Sully chuckled. "So the first lady, she says, 'I can't have chicken 'n' dumplins without dumplins, and her friend, she says, 'My Curtis can't have a birthday without a cake.' So I stand there, not knowin' what to do."

Byron leaned forward, clutching his knees. "Then what?"

Sully grinned. "I backed off a little, and next thing I know the two of them are tuggin' away at the basket, fightin' it out."

"And then what?" Byron pressed.

"Then they gave a real hard pull, lost hold of the basket, and all those eggs were on the floor!" Sully said.

Byron burst into giggles. "I guess nobody gonna have dumplins an' cake!"

Sully laughed, patting his back. "I think ya guess right, Byron. Made me smile for a little bit, at least."

"It's not much fun over at Mr. Bway's, Papa?" Byron asked.

"I'd just be happier home with you," Sully murmured. "Seems we just met and you're already growin' up too fast for me."

Byron picked up a stick. "Wanna play marbles now? Cal taught me how. First ya gotta draw a big, big circle." He scratched a crude circle in the dust, then dumped his pouch of marbles in the center. "Then ya put these here," he said, picking up several marbles one at a time and placing them at the edge of the circle.

"All right, I'm watchin'." He remembered as boys, he and Daniel had challenged each other to marbles many a time. It was a game probably too complicated for a child Byron's age, but he enjoyed watching his son's determined focus and didn't mind humoring him.

"And ya put these here," Byron went on, placing a handful of marbles in the center. "And this one over here." He placed a blue and white marble outside the circle.

Sully nodded. "I got it. Now what?"

"Now ya shoot 'em!" he said, making a fist, placing it behind a marble on the edge, and giving it a flick with his thumb. It rolled a foot into the circle and came to stop. "Look! I'm winning!" he said.

"We'll see after I take a turn," Sully said wryly, closing one eye and flicking a marble into the center.

Byron clapped. "Good, Papa! You a beginner. You're good!"

Sully laughed. "Byron," he chuckled, not knowing what else to say.

"What?" he asked, crouching down and focusing on another marble.

Sully wrapped an arm around him. "Nothin'. Ya know me and your mama, we always wanted a boy. A baby boy. But I don't think we ever counted on anyone like you. I'm just glad you decided to be our son, that's all."

"I'm glad you 'cided to be my papa," the child replied. "Papas are lots of fun."

"And Papa's gonna beat ya if ya don't catch up," Sully teased, shooting another marble across the circle.

"No you won't!" Byron replied. "I beat Cal every time an' I beat you, too!"

Sully sat straight, frustrated. He ran his fingers through his hair, rising to his feet.

"Your turn," Byron urged. "Sit down." He patted the ground beside him.

Sully gazed at him, mouth dry. "Byron ... why do ya always gotta ... ?"

"Don't ya wanna play with me?"

Sully took Byron's arms in his hands, squeezing them gently. "Why do ya gotta do this to me?"

The little boy frowned. "You mad, Papa?"

"Yeah, I'm mad!" he said resolutely. "I can't stand it no more."

Byron sniffled. "Don't get mad. You losing but you can c-catch up."

Sully gave him a little shake. "Byron, are you listenin' to what I'm sayin'? You're my son, I want to do things with ya, be with ya, an' all ya wanna do is ... I said I want ya to feel like ya can talk about it but-" He let go of the child's arms, brow furrowed, letting out a deep sigh.

Byron shielded his eyes from the sun, looking up at him, startled. His lip trembled, his eyes welled with tears, and seconds later he began to weep. "Why...why ya mad at m-me?" he choked, standing up.

Sully turned and grasped the porch railing. He listened to Byron's sobs, heart breaking at his upset, but was unable to face him. He trudged up the stairs and inside.

Byron watched him go, sobbing harder. "Papa!" he cried. Defeated, he fell back to his knees, rubbing his cheeks of tears with his dusty hands. "...Papa."

& & &

"No, don't say that. Pa doesn't hate ya, B.," Brian said reassuringly, stroking his hair as he kneeled beside his bed.

Byron frowned, eyes welling with tears. "He does. He hates me."

"No, he loves ya," Brian said. "It's just we're all havin' a hard time gettin' things back to the way they used to be." He tucked the covers up to his chin. "Go t' sleep now."

"How'd things used to be?" Byron asked quietly.

The boy swallowed. "Not like this. Ya wouldn't remember. Ya weren't born yet."

He crossed his arms. "I don't like bein' the baby."

Brian tickled his chin. "I know how that feels."

"How ya know?" he questioned.

"Well, 'cause I used to be the baby, too, B.," he told him, "at least 'til you and Katie come along. It's not always fun, but there's good things about it, too."

"Like what?" he pressed.

Brian scratched behind his neck, thinking hard. "Well, ya don't have to go to school yet for one. You can play all day, help Grace cook up lunch, help Ma with doctoring. And when things get slow over at the clinic, ya get Ma all to yourself."

Byron turned his ear toward his door. "Does bein' the baby mean Mama and Papa always fight 'bout ya?"

"They ain't fightin' about ya," Brian said.

"I make Mama and Papa mad," he whimpered. "I'm sorry. I make you mad too, Brian."

Brian sighed. "No, I ain't mad at you. It ain't your fault, B., I promise. It's nobody's fault. Try to sleep. Try to sleep ... "

& & &

"I don't know why you have to make him so upset," Michaela accused, brow furrowed. "He's just a little boy. He doesn't understand."

Sully walked across the kitchen, arms crossed. "I didn't mean for him to cry," he murmured.

"But he did," she retorted. "We're not going to get very far until you understand things can't just go back to being normal."

"Why can't they?" he asked. "I been separated from our little boy for four years. I want that back. But he's gotta make it so hard."

"I know you do, but you have to remember Byron's been without you for four years, too," she replied. "We've all missed out, Sully. You're not the only one struggling here."

"Byron seemed to be just as happy before I came back," he added.

"He didn't even know you!" she said. "...When he was three years old, he asked me why the boys he played with had papas and he didn't. I had to explain to him he would never know his father, that we didn't even know where you laid! Do you know how heartbreaking that was? There's nothing we can do to get back that time. When are you going to accept that?"

"When are you gonna accept that I'm here ... and he's gone?" he replied, breathing deeply.

"...I have accepted it," she said, tears threatening. "I have. Every day I prayed by some miracle you were alive. Every day!"

He shook his head. "You were fine without me, Michaela. After all, ya had Cal with ya."

"Sully." She took his hands. "You have to know Cal never would have had such a part in our lives had you been here. I would never have paused to glance at another man. It took years before I even saw Cal for anything more than a friend! Are you ever going to forgive me for wanting something better for the children...for me? That's all I wanted. Something better than what we had."

He looked away, unable to face the hurt in her eyes. "What about what we had?" he whispered. "I remember ... do you?"

"...Of course I do," she said softly. "You know I want this to work as much as you."

He pulled his hands away and walked to the kitchen window, gazing outside. They stood silently for a long moment, neither moving. At last Sully turned, letting out his breath. "Maybe you're right," he whispered. "Maybe we can't get that back..."

& & &

Sully heaved a large sack of apples over his shoulder and circled around the storage shed to the front of the store. He dropped the sack at his feet with a thump and squatted down to untie it.

Loren paused in washing one of the inside front windows, brow wrinkled with disapproval. He put his cloth aside and tapped on the window with his knuckle. "Sully...try not to bruise those apples before they even get in the barrel," he called.

Sully looked up guiltily. "Sorry," he said.

Loren averted his eyes, putting his hands on his hips. "Go on. Get back to work," he grumbled.

Sully gave another nod and stood up. Carefully, he began putting the apples one by one in the barrel out front, pretending he didn't hear the whisperings of two ladies filling their baskets on the other side of the porch and trying to ignore the stares of a customer enjoying a cigar out front. It had been two weeks since he had taken the job. He wondered how long it was going to be before the townsfolk got used to seeing him there.

A few minutes later he heard a customer approach him from behind.

"I'll take a dozen of your finest apples," Preston said.

Sully turned around. "Preston?"

Preston feigned a look of astonishment. "Sully? What are you doing here?" He eyed him up and down. "You're not...working here, are you?"

" ... As a matter of fact I am." He removed a small empty potato sack from a crate beneath the vegetable display. "Twelve you said?" He began filling the sack with apples.

Preston smiled wide. "Well, I must admit I didn't recognize you in such refined apparel. So you're a stock boy now. My goodness. Did Michaela put you up to this? She finally got tired of providing for the family entirely on her own? Been on your case to go out and secure a decent job?"

"How I got here ain't the point," Sully replied. "I'm grateful for what I can get, what with so many men out of work."

"Yes, yes," Preston agreed. "Hard times." He nodded behind him. "I noticed Brooks Streetcars hasn't had any bidders yet. I surely thought you would see the potential in that place and capitalize on it. But no, here you are working for Loren."

Sully dumped the bag in Preston's arms. "That's a dozen."

Preston handed it back to him. "Would you mind carrying these to the counter for me, Sully?" He winced. "Bad back. Michaela advised I avoid heavy lifting."

Sully stood silent for a moment, jaw clenched. "Sure thing," he said at last, walking briskly inside, Preston following. He pulled out the cash box and put it on the counter with a small slam. "That'll be forty-eight cents," he said quickly.

"Forty-eight cents!" Preston exclaimed, reaching into his breast pocket. "How much does an apple go for these days?"

"Four cents a piece. Twelve apples. Forty-eight cents," Sully retorted. "The math's right."

"Oh, I believe you." Preston set aside the amount from a handful of coins and gave it to Sully. He placed the remaining coins in his pocket.

Sully dropped the coins in the cash box, slammed the lid, and put it back in its place behind the counter. "Thanks. Have a good day."

"... You loathe it here, Sully, don't you?" Preston said suddenly.

Sully pulled at his collar, trying to loosen it. "I gotta get back to work, Preston."

Preston grabbed his arm. "Won't you reconsider my offer? I want to add a parlor to the west side of my homestead, and I need you to do it."

"...I already got a job," Sully said.

"You're the best carpenter in town, everyone knows that. What are you doing wasting your talents here? I'll pay you five times the wages." He pointed his finger at him. "I want to expand my homestead, and you are the man I want for the job." He reached inside his coat for his billfold, pulling out two ten dollar bills. "We'll consider this your first payment." He laid the money on the counter.

"But I ain't even agreed-" Sully glanced at the money. Twenty dollars. That was a lot. Enough to cover Byron and Katie's new boots with plenty to spare.

"Come out to my homestead during your lunch and have a look," Preston insisted.

Sully glanced out the window towards church. "I promised Michaela and Katie I'd meet them during lunch-"

"Sully," Preston cajoled. "Sully, you know you want to do this." He pulled out his billfold once more and laid another ten dollars on the counter. "Well? What do you say?"

He swallowed. Michaela would understand. He hoped. "I'd ... I'd have to talk it over with my wife," he said quietly.

"Oh yes, please do," the banker replied. "I'd never want you to make a decision without Michaela's stamp of approval."

He glanced once more toward the church. If he hurried, he could do both, visit Preston's homestead and meet Michaela at the church. "All right...I guess I'll be there around noon," he said. "Just to look, though."

Preston smiled widely. "Splendid. Yes, of course. Just to look." He reached into the sack and pulled out an apple, wiping it on his vest coat and tossing it to Sully. "Just to look."

& & &

Michaela pulled back the lace curtains of one of the church windows, gazing toward town. Katie stood quietly at her mother's side, resting her head against her, hanging on to one of her fingers limply.

"No sign of him yet?" the Reverend spoke up from the front of the church, hands folded.

"Perhaps he forgot," Michaela admitted quietly.

The Reverend shook his head. "I'm sure something's just keepin' him, Dr. Mike."

"Mama?" Katie spoke up. "... Can I go back to recess now?"

Michaela hesitated, glancing once more outside. Disappointment built up within her. She and Sully had decided that it was time for Katie to be involved in their counseling sessions with the Reverend, hoping it would help somehow. They had agreed to meet at the church. He would come during his lunch hour and she would pick up Katie from school during recess.

Michaela realized things had been tense between them since he had upset Byron, but she couldn't believe Sully wasn't going to show up for their first session with their daughter. He always talked about wanting to repair his relationship with her. Michaela decided she was more angry than disappointed. There was no good reason for Sully to leave she and Katie waiting. They had done their part. It was he who had failed this time.

Michaela placed her arm around Katie and gave her a gentle squeeze. "Yes, go on, sweetheart. I'll pick you and Brian up this afternoon, how's that?"

Katie smiled faintly, nodding. She scurried down the aisle and out the front door, noticeably relieved she was avoiding confrontation with Sully, at least for the moment.

The Reverend waited until he heard the door shut behind Katie and then made his way to the window where Michaela stood.

"I'm sure something must be keepin' him," he repeated.

Michaela turned from the window, closing her eyes. "No. I apologize for this, Reverend. He's not coming."

"What makes you think that?" the Reverend questioned. He felt for the pew behind him and gestured. "Here, sit down."

Reluctantly, she took a seat, resting her hands in her lap. "We've barely spoken all week. Byron likes to talk about Cal and forgets my reminding him to try not to. Sully often grows impatient with him. He upset Byron to the point of tears."

"And that angers you?" the Reverend asked.

Michaela shrugged. "I suppose I ... I just want him to understand Byron needs more time. He's four years old. He's too young to understand what he's doing that tries Sully's patience. I try to explain to him but it doesn't help. It does make me angry. It made me so frustrated when Sully upset him."

"Are you angry because Byron's upset ... or because it hurts you just as much to see him anything but happy?"

Michaela swallowed. "Reverend...I've spent Byron's entire life seeing to it he's loved, safe and protected at all times. It's a need I can't explain. Byron and the children were my reason to keep pressing on after Sully disappeared. I don't think Sully understands that."

"Then you need to tell Sully about it," the Reverend suggested. "Thank him for giving you a son. Tell him how much it meant to you."

"I told him about how I decided on his name," Michaela whispered. "I think he was able to come to terms with that."

"That's a good step, but thank him, Dr. Mike," the Reverend replied. "I think Sully sees your marriage to Cal as a betrayal. He needs to know he was never forgotten when he disappeared, and how hard you've tried to keep him with you. He needs to know the reason you felt ready to marry Cal was because you realized how much Sully cared about your happiness."

Michaela stood up. "He has to do his part, too," she said. "He wants results without putting in the effort. He needs to share too at these counseling sessions, but he refuses. He refuses, Reverend."

"Maybe if you take the time to talk to him, he'll want to talk to you," he replied.

She sighed. "I need to get back to the clinic. I'm sorry Sully couldn't make it."

"That's all right, Dr. Mike. We can reschedule."

She nodded, turning towards the door. "Yes. Good day, Reverend."

to be continued...


	55. Chapter 68

Chapter Sixty-eight

Sully dismounted his horse as he approached the store. The addition Preston wanted was simple and would probably only take him a few months. He wasn't sure how Michaela would feel about him working for the banker again, but he just couldn't refuse. He had agreed on the spot, the thirty dollars down payment fresh in his mind. He stopped short. Michaela. He was going to meet Michaela.

Sully hurried down Main Street and ran across the bridge toward the church. He glanced at the schoolhouse. Recess was over. He hurried faster, climbing the steps two at a time and bursting inside.

"Michaela?" he called.

Startled, the Reverend turned from the front pew where he was straightening a pile of hymnals. "Who's there?"

"It's Sully, Reverend."

He stood up. "Sully. I'm sorry. Dr. Mike and Katie left about half an hour ago."

He sighed.

"Are you all right?" the Reverend asked. "We were wondering where you were."

"I'm fine," Sully replied. "I just...I guess I...it slipped my mind." He unbuttoned his cuffs, pushing them up to his elbows. "Michaela...is she upset?"

The Reverend hesitated. "I s'pose she...wasn't happy you couldn't make it."

"I best go find her. I can explain."

"I think that's a good idea," the Reverend replied. "The sooner the better."

& & &

Sully knocked on the clinic door, palms damp with sweat. He could only hope Michaela would stay calm long enough for him to tell her why he missed the counseling session.

"Come in!" she called.

He touched his hand to the doorknob but found himself unable to move.

A few seconds later Michaela opened the door. "Come in-" She stopped, lips pursed.

Sully shifted his weight. "Hey ... "

She walked back inside, returning to a table where she was polishing the soot from a row of lamps. "Where were you?" she asked, picking up a soiled rag and resuming her work.

"Michaela, I got good news. I'm quittin' my job at the mercantile."

Her eyes widened. "You're what? Sully, you just started! That's why you didn't show? You were quitting your job?"

He shook his head. "No. This ain't comin' out right. I'm quittin' 'cause I got a better job- working for Preston."

"Preston?" she breathed. "You're going to work for Preston now?"

"Addin' on to his homestead. I took a look at it this afternoon. He gave me thirty dollars right off. Thirty dollars."

She removed the globe from the lamp in front of her and polished it with the cloth. "You kept Katie and the Reverend and I waiting without any explanation."

He sighed. "I know. I got caught up at Preston's. But look, I'm gonna make more than I ever could workin' for Robert E. or Loren even. This job's important."

"These counseling sessions are important," Michaela replied. "Our daughter is important."

He threw his hands in the air. "I'm sorry, all right? Don't know why you gotta be like this. They ain't helpin' anyway."

She turned to face him, surprised. "What do you mean?"

"Seems to me we're right back to where we started," he replied. "I ain't seein' any change."

"You have to &go& to the sessions to see a change," she whispered.

"I have gone."

"Well, then you need to participate more at them," she said.

"I'm tryin'. I just, I can't talk about things as easy as you can," he admitted.

"You think this has been easy for me?" she asked. "But I put in the effort for us, Sully. We have to keep going for both our sakes."

He turned away, crossing his arms. "All right. You're right ... I shouldn't of missed it today. I shoulda let you know where I was."

"You can be the one to explain to Katie why you weren't there," she said. "I'm not going to make any excuses for you." She placed the globe back on the lamp.

He turned back, taking her hand tentatively. "I'm sorry. I'll talk to Katie. I will." He reached up and brushed a stray hair from her brow. "I'm sorry."

She nodded quickly. "... I know, Sully. I have a lot of work left to do, so if you wouldn't mind ..."

"I'll pick up the kids from school later," he offered.

"Thank you, but I already told them I would."

"Oh." He cleared his throat. "I'll start supper then."

She gave a small smile. "All right."

He opened the door. "I'll see ya at home."

Before Michaela could reply, he had shut the door.

& & &

"In we go!" Michaela said, lifting Katie over the rim of the tub and setting her in the warm, sudsy bath water. She turned to her little boy, standing beside her with an impish grin. She eyed him teasingly, hoisting him into the water to sit in front of his sister. "And in we go!" she chuckled. She kneeled beside the tub and rolled up her blouse sleeves, preparing for a possible battle with Byron and Katie. Bath time had become a nightly routine that had proven on some days to be relaxing, on others, hair-raising.

"Mama, can Mr. Bear take a bath with us, too?" Byron asked as Michaela began massaging Katie's back with a soapy washcloth.

"No, Mr. Bear may not. No toys in the tub," she replied. "Except for your boat," she added.

"Mr. Bear is not a toy," he contended, grasping the ledge of the tub. "He is ... he's Mr. Bear!"

Katie giggled at her little brother's antics, poking his knee good-naturedly. Michaela reached up to stroke back her hair. The times Katie smiled and seemed happy had grown very rare, and Michaela cherished them.

"There's Papa!" Byron cried, raising his boat over his head as Sully came in the front door, a stack of firewood in his arms.

Sully walked into the kitchen, piling the firewood by the stove as he watched the three. Michaela usually had Katie and Byron bathed and ready for bed before he and Brian were done with the chores. He wasn't accustomed to seeing his wife and children together in such an intimate way. He committed the precious sight immediately to memory.

Michaela looked up as he turned to face them, her apron bunched up in her lap, wisps of hair framing her face and a glow about her that the children always seemed to be able to bring out. "Thank you, Sully," she said softly.

He added one of the logs to the stove, carefully closing the door after it. "It's gettin' kinda chilly out," he replied. "Don't want anybody cold."

Mischief in his eye, Byron brought his arms rapidly out of the water, giving his father a small shower of water droplets.

"Byron! No splashing!" Michaela scolded.

He covered his mouth, giggling.

Sully brushed off his shirt and met Byron's eyes. Suddenly he let out a warm laugh. "No splashin', son," he repeated. "You mind your ma." He took his finger and swiped away a dollop of suds that had lingered on Michaela's brow.

She grinned shyly. "They're a handful tonight," she admitted. "Or at least he is."

Sully rested his hand on Michaela's shoulder and glanced at Katie. She was ignoring him as usual, staring at the water and twirling tiny circles in it with her fingers while her mother bathed her. "Could I help?" he asked suddenly, squatting beside Michaela.

"Yeah! Papa will help! Papa, we can play boats!" Byron spoke up energetically.

Michaela drew in her breath, thoughts of what happened the last time Sully had bathed the children filling her with hesitation. Still, Sully's keenness was so sincere. She reached beside her for a spare washcloth. "I'll finish Katie," she said, somewhat awkwardly. "You can do Byron."

Sully turned the washcloth over in his hands. He met her eyes, abashed. "I, uh ... I ain't real sure ..." he admitted softly.

Michaela swallowed. "We bathed Katie when she was a baby," she reminded him gently.

"I know, but that was different. I ... I want to learn how to do this right."

Touched, Michaela recalled her promise to teach him how to care for the younger children. Sully had spent considerable time with Katie after she was born, learning the ropes of looking after a baby, but he was right, there was a big difference between a tiny infant, and what they had now, a little boy and girl four and five years old. He truly wanted to do better by the children, just as he had told her, and she was so pleased by his efforts.

She handed him the bar of soap, her arm brushing with his a few seconds longer than necessary. She nodded approvingly as he rubbed the soap and cloth together.

"Byron likes lots of bubbles," she told him.

"All right," Sully murmured, bringing the cloth to Byron's back and covering him with the foamy suds. "This all right?"

"Yes ... that's perfect," she encouraged. She turned back to Katie, rinsing the soap from her with handfuls of water.

Sully took Byron's arms and carefully washed them from the shoulders down to the tips of his fingers.

"Papa, I got an itchy," Byron spoke up, scrunching up his nose.

"Don't touch your face, son. Ya'll get soap in your eyes," he told him, chuckling as Byron rapidly wiggled his nose. "Here, I'll get it." Sully reached his hand up and gently scratched it for him. "There. How's that?"

Byron let out a dramatic sigh. "Better!"

Michaela gazed at father and son fondly. Their loving connection was so powerful at times Michaela felt she could almost touch it-all this in sharp contrast to Katie's distressed reaction to Sully's return. Michaela continued to hope that watching her brothers interact with Sully would have a calming influence on the child, and that if they encouraged her a little at a time, she would begin to allow her father into her life. Deciding now provided a perfect opportunity for some encouragement, Michaela stood up and lifted Katie out of the tub, wrapping her in a thick towel. "I'll finish him, Sully," she spoke up. "Could you bring Katie over by the fireplace and dry her off? Her nightgown's over there, too. She might need help with the buttons."

Katie's eyes widened at her mother's words. She grabbed hold of Michaela's blouse, debating whether to give a verbal protest.

"You go on with Papa, sweetheart," Michaela whispered. "I'll stay right here by the tub where you can see me, hm?"

Sully stood up, wiping his hands on a towel. Grudgingly, Katie allowed him to lift her into his arms and carry her to the fireside.

"Here, Kates, let's get ya dried off," he began uncomfortably, setting her on her feet and rubbing her down vigorously with the towel. She kept her hands clasped in front of her the entire time, staring at her feet with indifferent, brown eyes.

Sully reached for her nightgown, unfolding it. "Katie?" he began quietly. "About today, I know I was gonna meet you and your ma at the church."

The child remained unresponsive, not even blinking.

"Not showin' up wasn't right," Sully went on determinedly. "And I wanna apologize. I'm sorry, Katie."

The child reached her hand out and seized the nightgown from him, pulling it over her head and threading her arms through the sleeves. She had never wanted to go to the church in the first place and had only gone along with it because she saw how much it would please her mother. When Sully didn't come, it had hurt, mostly to see her mother so upset. It had also hurt a little that he had forgotten about her, though she wasn't about to let him know that, and it had given her a good excuse to hate him even more. Sully was so kind to her, so patient, always wanting to please her. Still, he had taken Cal from her, that hadn't changed. Part of her wanted to hurt him just as much back, for all he had done to her. Hating him felt better than forgiving him, that was for sure. Cal would never have forgotten about her. Cal should have been the one bathing her, helping her button her nightgown. Sully couldn't say anything to make her feel better about that.

"This new job, Papa's gonna make good money doin' it," Sully went on. "It's gonna be real good for all of us, ya understand? But look, that don't matter. You're more important to me than any job could ever be." He caressed her cheek. "I'm sorry," he whispered once more.

Katie glanced at her mother, who was watching them from across the room as she towel-dried Byron. She saw how disappointed it made her when she continued to refuse to speak to Sully. Katie didn't want to hurt her, too, but she had a right to be angry. She didn't have to love him if she didn't want to. Maybe if she acted like this long enough, maybe Mama would see she didn't want anything to do with this stranger who was her father, and bring Cal back.

"Please, just let me know you hear me," Sully said. "Tell me ya hear what I'm sayin'."

Katie let her eyes fall on her father, and for a brief moment, the sadness across his face made her want to forget all the anger, reach out to him and hug him, just so he would stop looking at her like that. She couldn't do that though, not now. She felt a wave of unexpected, hot tears trickle down her cheeks, and reached up to hastily swipe them away.

"Katie," Sully breathed. "Oh, don't cry, sweet girl. Oh, it's all right."

Swallowing back the tears, Katie broke away from his grasp and scurried over to the stairs, disappearing up to her room.

& & &

"Preston's, huh?" Jake said, arms crossed as he stood in front of the café table, the latest issue of the Gazette under one arm.

"That's right," Sully replied quickly, scraping up the last few bites of his pie with the side of his fork.

Michaela watched him quietly, her pie forgotten, wondering if he truly enjoyed his new job as much as he claimed. She paused to tuck Byron's napkin more securely in his collar, then turned her attention back to the men's conversation.

"What's he doin' to that castle this time?" Jake asked.

"Addin' a parlor," Sully explained. "Should take me around six or seven weeks."

Jake nodded, a twinge of jealousy narrowing his eyes. It seemed Preston was always striving to outdo him-outdo the whole town, really. "Well, ya do fine work, Sully. Everybody knows that. Maybe when you're finished with this you'll talk to Hank and me about some additions to the Gold Nugget."

"Sure. Maybe," Sully said noncommittally.

Jake laid the paper on the table and glanced at Michaela. "We got that council meeting next Wednesday, Dr. Mike. You gonna be able to come?"

"Yes, of course," she spoke up dutifully. "Anything imperative on the agenda?"

"Nope. Just the usual," Jake replied.

"Good," Michaela said, taking a small bite of her pie.

"Well, I'll see you then. You folks have a good afternoon," Jake said, picking up his paper.

Byron swallowed the last bite of his pie and suddenly pointed at the newspaper. "Look, Papa! B!" he announced.

Sully raised his head, instantly bursting into a smile as Jake handed him the paper. "You're right, son, that is a B," Sully said proudly, pointing at the bold-type headline. "It says, 'Bell's Invention Comes to Denver'."

"Sully, how did he know what letter that was?" Michaela questioned, resting one hand on her son's shoulder.

He smiled. "I been teaching him how to write his name. It was supposed to be a surprise."

"B, Mama!" Byron said with an exultant grin. "Like my name!"

"Ya outta start him up in school, Dr. Mike," Jake remarked.

"School?" Michaela said. "He can't go to school. He's too young for that."

"I wanna go to school like Brian and Katie," Byron said insistently.

"He's gonna be five this winter, Michaela," Sully said. "And he's been picking up these letters so fast. I think he's ready."

"But it's in the middle of the school year," Michaela protested, her list of excuses running thin.

"I'll talk to Teresa," Jake offered. "She'll take him in."

"Please, Mama?" Byron pleaded. "I can go to school and learn more letters?"

"You really want that?" she asked, not sure she was ready to see her youngest child off so soon.

Byron nodded enthusiastically. "Please?"

Michaela looked at Jake and then Sully. "Well, I suppose we could try it. We can always take him out if it's too much for him."

"Yep," Sully said. He reached across the table and patted Byron's hand. "You're goin' to school, son. Pretty soon you'll be able to read to yourself just like the older kids."

"Yea!" Byron squealed, hugging his mother's waist as she kissed his head and held him tight, doing her best to smile.

& & &

"You have your lunch?" Michaela asked fretfully, kneeling to Byron's level and straightening his collar one last time, Sully's hand resting on her back in support. "Mama packed your favorite. A ham sandwich, apple slices, and cookies from Miss Grace's."

Byron held up his tin pail impatiently, casting an eager eye at the schoolhouse and the children bustling around outside before class began.

"Good," she went on nervously, patting the breast pocket of his pressed blue plaid shirt. "Remember we put a slate pencil in your pocket and you can share Katie's slate until we get you your own. And you know I'm just down the street at the clinic. I'll be there all day if you need me. And Papa's going to be at Mr. Lodge's, but we can ride out there and get him right away."

Brian put his arm around his little brother. "I'll keep an eye on him, don't worry," he said.

"Do you want me to come over during lunch to eat with you, Brynie?" Michaela asked, smoothing his hair. "Or you could walk over to the clinic."

Byron hesitated, biting his lip.

"He'll be all right, Ma," Brian said. "Me and Katie'll eat with him. Let him go now."

Sully patted her back. "Like ya said, you're just down the street."

"I suppose," she murmured. She gave the child a tight, prolonged hug, a lump in her throat.

"Aw, Ma, don't do that to him," Brian protested, half-teasingly. "Not in front of all these kids."

Michaela eyed her older son obstinately and then kissed Byron's cheek. "You have a good day, sweetheart," she said unsteadily as Teresa began ringing the hand bell. "I want to hear all about it this afternoon, all right?"

"All right. Time to go in now," Byron said, pulling away and turning for the schoolhouse, dragging Brian along with him.

Michaela stood up, holding back emotions with all her strength. She watched as Byron ascended the stairs, greeted Teresa with a wide, excited smile, and then turned back to give his parents one final wave before he disappeared inside.

" ... Oh." Michaela pressed one hand to her mouth as she felt tears spill freely down her cheeks.

"Hey, he's gonna be fine," Sully whispered.

"I know he will," she said hoarsely. "But it's just ... he's starting school. M-my little boy, going to school."

He smiled softly and kissed her head, drawing her to him comfortingly as she rested her cheek against his chest and closed her eyes against her tears. " ... Shh, Michaela. I know," he soothed tenderly.

& & &

Michaela slowly awoke as her little girl stirred beside her. Katie had come in during the middle of the night and silently crawled under the covers with her. She had been doing that on and off ever since Sully had come home, and Michaela had to admit she didn't particularly mind. It was nice to cuddle with her. It brought back fond memories of when sharing her bed with the younger children had been a nightly routine. Byron would curl up in the crook of her arm, reach up to touch her lips with his fingers and coo and gurgle, while Katie preferred to snuggle against the warmth of her back, thumb in mouth. Michaela remembered thinking if only Sully could be beside them, everything would have been perfect.

Michaela turned and gathered Katie into her arms. "Are you waking up, sweetheart?" she whispered. "It's about time to have some breakfast and get you and your brothers ready for school."

Katie rubbed her eyes with one fist, squinting in the light.

Michaela kissed her brow. "You climbed in with Mama during the night."

Katie nodded shyly. "I had a dream."

"Oh, dear. Not a bad one I hope," Michaela replied.

"Kates, I hear ya have a bad dream? Ya all right now?" Sully said softly, opening the door, one hand behind his back. He smiled at the sight of his girls. "... Mornin'."

Michaela reached her hand out to tentatively take his. "Good morning, Sully." She glanced at Katie hopefully. "Good morning, Papa," she encouraged gently. "Tell Papa good morning, Katie."

Katie kept her lips together as always, only pausing to silently meet Sully's eyes.

Sully gave Michaela's hand a small kiss and sat on the bed, removing from behind his back two small but elaborate candleholders, each with an intricate floral design around the handle.

Michaela sat up, surprised. "Sully. Oh, they're beautiful."

"Robert E. designed 'em and made 'em," he said. He handed them to her. " ... Maybe I helped a little. Thought maybe we could put them on our table."

"Look, Katie, aren't these nice?" Michaela said, smiling as she gave the child one of the candleholders.

Sully nodded, relieved things seemed to be going well. "I hoped ya might like them."

She turned one over in her hands and met his eyes. "Yes, I love them. Thank you, Sully."

" ... Happy anniversary," Sully replied softly.

She started, glancing at him and then the candleholders. "Oh. Oh, our ..." she murmured uncomfortably, clearing her throat.

Sully sat unmoving for a few seconds, eyes reflecting both hurt and disappointment. Clearly, she had forgotten what day it was, at least until he had brought it up. She had thought the candleholders were a simple gift with no special occasion attached. He stood suddenly. "I, uh, I gotta get over to Preston's."

"But what about breakfast?" she asked. "I could make you something quickly-"

"No, I want an early start," he said, avoiding her eyes. "I'll see ya at supper."

"Is it your birthday, Mama?" Katie asked, handing back the candleholder. "My birthday's comin' up soon."

Michaela closed her eyes, sighing. "Oh, Katie, what was I thinking?"

"I don't know. What?" Katie pressed.

Michaela shook her head, tears springing to her eyes. "Our anniversary," she choked. "Papa and Mama's anniversary. It's today. I knew it was today I just...Papa's given me a lot to think about lately and I've been distracted."

"What's dis...distracted...?" Katie asked curiously.

"It means...Mama was very foolish just now."

"Oh." Katie climbed down from the bed and scurried to the window, giggling. "The floor's cold!" she exclaimed.

Michaela smiled faintly. "Go find your slippers then."

Katie pressed her nose to the glass. "...There he goes."

"Oh, no," Michaela sighed again. " ... Oh, Katie. What have I done?"

to be continued...


	56. Chapter 69

Chapter Sixty-nine

A misty spring rain had just begun as Michaela arrived at Preston's homestead. She climbed down from the wagon, grabbed the picnic basket she had placed under the seat, and circled the homestead, looking for Sully.

She found him at the back of the homestead, mouth pursed as he sawed a board. Michaela watched him for a moment, unnoticed. Every day he was up and out at Preston's homestead at sunrise. He worked with a determination and focus she admired. He truly was committed to helping to support the family again, even if that meant working for Preston.

"Sully," she called tentatively.

He paused in his work, looking up.

She stepped toward him, setting the basket on a nearby table. " ... I made you lunch," she said.

He ran his arm across his brow. "Thanks. Ya didn't have to come all the way out here."

She folded her hands. "Well, I wanted to tell you ... Happy Anniversary."

He swallowed, glancing up at the sky as if he had just noticed the rain.

"...I'm sorry," she whispered. "I-I just want you to know that this has been the most painful day out of the year since you've been missing. I've spent four years trying not to think about it, trying to forget. The reminder of what I'd lost was just too much to cope with." She sighed. "I'm making excuses. You're here now and I should have remembered what today is right away."

He straightened and began sawing the board again.

"You and Robert E. must have worked very hard on the candle holders," Michaela added, raising her voice to be heard over the saw. "They truly are beautiful. Perhaps just you and I could have a late supper tonight and I'll put them on the table."

Sully paused once more, looking her in the eyes. "In prison, I'd keep track of the days," he said. "A few of the guards there, they would help me out, let me know what month it was, what day."

Surprised he had brought up the prison on his own, Michaela found herself speechless. She nodded, willing him to go on.

"Every year when this day come around, I'd lie on my mattress early in the mornin', close my eyes an' pretend I was back home with ya. I'd picture us together, talkin' about what we were gonna do to make it special. Maybe go for a walk, or to the café, or even see a play in Denver. I thought maybe if I thought about ya hard enough, maybe ya might ... I don't know, feel that somehow."

She reached out to caress his arm, moved.

He shook his head, looking away. "I guess I never thought all this time I was tryin' so hard to remember ya, you were tryin' just as hard t' forget it all."

"Oh, Sully. I wasn't trying to forget you," Michaela murmured. "... It just hurt so much."

"Ain't our anniversary a happy memory?" he asked.

"That happiness became painful," she explained. "I thought I would never have it again. I thought it was gone."

He reached for his canteen, tilting his head back and taking several liberal gulps. He put the canteen on the table and pressed the back of his hand to his mouth to catch any lingering droplets of water. "I s'pose we're even now. We both let somethin' important slip by. I shouldn'ta forgotten about that counseling session with Katie."

"...Will you forgive me?" she whispered.

"Will you forgive me?" he replied softly.

She stepped forward and gave him a warm, tight hug. "Of course I do...I'm so sorry."

He stroked her hair tenderly. "It's all right. It's just another day. It don't matter."

"You don't really believe that and neither do I," Michaela said.

He smiled soflty. "... I guess you're right."

She stepped back. "Sully, these guards, how did they treat you in prison?"

He narrowed his brow, irritated. "How do ya think they treated me?"

"It's just, you said they offered to tell you what day it was," Michaela persisted. "I thought perhaps some of them might have been kind to you."

He held out his arms, hands in fists, displaying his scars. "This tell ya anythin'?"

"I don't want your wrists to tell me. I want to hear it from &you&." she said boldly.

"We ain't gonna talk about this now," he said sternly. "Look, I'm in the middle of workin'."

"We could break for lunch together," she said more gently. "We could talk then."

"No, I don't have time. Gotta lot to do. Michaela, you're getting all wet out here." He softened, taking her hand and kissing her cheek. "You should get back to the clinic. I don't want ya gettin' behind 'cause of me."

She opened her mouth to protest but at last held back. "Yes ... all right. I'll see you later today."

He picked up the saw and the board, returning his focus to his work. "Yeah."

& & &

Katie stepped around a puddle as she led Brian down the path through the woods. She glanced behind her. Sully was following them, Byron on his shoulders.

"See, ain't this fun, Kate?" Brian asked. "You should come with us every time when we go on walks. Last time we saw a baby deer."

"We might come across her again," Sully spoke up. "She sometimes shows up around here to eat the clover."

"I'll look for her," Byron offered, shielding his brow with one hand, his other arm clasped around Sully's neck.

"I know where you're takin' us, Katie," Brian groaned as he heard the sound of rushing water in the distance. "That spot at the creek ya like, right?"

"I wanna see if there's tadpoles there," Katie said simply.

"She goes to the same exact place every time, Pa," Brian explained. "She don't ever wanna go anywhere else."

Sully smiled. "Yeah. I know. I like that spot, too."

Brian patted Katie's back. "You go on ahead. We'll be right behind ya." He lingered back to walk beside Sully and Byron. "Hey, Pa, I was wonderin' if ya know what you're gettin' Katie for her birthday," he began. "It's comin' up."

He shrugged. "I guess I ain't sure yet. But I want it to be somethin' special." Sully thought of the last time he had tried to give his daughter a gift. She had thrown the porcelain doll across the room and burst into tears. He hoped she would be a little more accepting of his efforts this time. After all, they were on better terms now. She had started looking him in the eyes, she let him hug her goodnight and even occasionally took his hand. And yet she still wouldn't speak to him. She wouldn't even say 'Papa.' Despite all the progress, he continued to feel discouraged.

"Guess what? I'm drawin' Katie a picture of Wof," Byron spoke up.

Sully reached up to pat his hand. "That sounds real good."

"Know what she'd really love?" Brian went on. "She's always wanted me to build her a tree house for her to play in."

"Seems like a big project," Sully admitted.

"I know. I don't think I could do it all on my own," Brian said, "but I was wonderin' if you'd help me, Pa. We could work on it together. It could be a gift from both of us."

"From both of us. Yeah. I'd love that, Brian."

Brian smiled. "Good. This is gonna be fun. We could paint it and even put a few chairs up there."

"I wanna help," Byron said. "I help paint."

Sully lifted him over his head and into his arms. "Sure. You can help too if ya want."

"We ain't gonna be able to keep this a secret from Katie," Brian told them. "She's sure to see us workin' on it."

"Why don't ya catch up to her and tell her about our plans," Sully suggested. "Maybe she'd like to help us out, too. She could give the place her own special touch."

"Yeah." Brian smiled. "Katie!" he called, jogging up to her. "Katie, guess what you're gettin' for your birthday?"

The little girl was crouched beside the water, placing blades of grass in it and watching them float downstream. She turned to face Brian, her eyes lighting up. "What?"

"A tree house!" he told her.

Katie leapt to her feet. "Really?" she shrieked.

Brian hugged her. "Yep. Me and Pa and B. are buildin' it for ya. And we want you to help us out, too."

She wrapped her arms around him tight. "A tree house! Can it have a window and pretty curtains?"

He chuckled. "Sure, I guess so."

"Maybe you could draw out what ya want it to look like, Kates," Sully said, putting Byron on his feet. "And maybe if we ask Mama, she'll make us some curtains."

Katie looked up at him, remembering the afternoon several weeks ago when she had come across him sitting beside the place at the creek she had always loved, his head tilted back and gazing at the sky. He had told her about taking her out to that very spot when she was smaller. Katie thought if she tried with all her might, she could imagine what it must have been like when she was a baby and taking a walk out to the creek with her mother and father. She could almost feel the rushing water between her toes, Mama holding onto her hands protectively, the smell of her papa as he swung his daughter in the air and kissed her cheek.

Brian cleared his throat. "Yeah, that's a good idea. Then we can all be part of it. Ma, too."

Katie tugged on her older brother's sleeve. "Come on. Help me look for tadpoles!" She scurried downstream, dragging a compliant and laughing Brian along

"Wait! Me, too! I'm comin'!" Byron called, chasing after them. Suddenly he stopped, turning back around, already gasping for air as if he had been running for several minutes. "Come on, Papa. You look, too!" He held out his hand.

Sully smiled, walking to him and taking it. "I'm comin'." He stopped to pick him up again. "You havin' trouble breathin', son?"

"...A little," Byron admitted quietly. "I don't wanna go home now. Please I stay here? I wanna help look."

Sully kissed his head. "You can ride with Papa, how's that?"

Byron grinned. "Good. Know what, Papa? I'm glad you're not mad at me anymore."

Sully hugged him tight. "Oh, no, son. I wasn't ever mad at ya. I didn't mean to make ya think that. I'm still learnin' about bein' a papa to ya. We're gonna have t' help each other with this."

"All right. How 'bout I will try to be a good boy and maybe you an' Mama try no more fightin' so much," he replied.

"That sounds good."

"An' think we could play marbles again sometime?" the child asked.

"I sure do," Sully told him. "I think I still need some help learnin' the game though."

"I will help ya, Papa!"

"You will? Well, that'd be perfect." He kissed his head once more. "I'd like that a lot, Byron."

"We can play tomorrow?" he asked.

"Sure," Sully replied. "After you get home from school and I get back from work."

Byron quieted, eyes lowered. "I'm not going to school."

Sully gazed at him incredulously. "Not goin' to school? Why not? I thought ya liked it."

He shook his head. "Not no more."

"Why?" Sully pressed.

Byron grasped the beads around his father's neck and squeezed them for comfort. "'Cause," he mumbled.

"You can tell me, son," Sully encouraged. "Remember we talked about how you can tell me anything? Now why don't ya wanna go to school anymore?"

He looked up at him, eyes moist with tears. "'Cause I'm dumb, Papa!"

Sully slowed his steps. "What? You're not dumb, Byron, and don't you let anybody tell you that."

"I am, too," he insisted. "I can't write letters like the rest of those kids. Miz Teresa tried teachin' me and then I just couldn't learned anything." He crossed his arms decidedly. "I'm not goin' back. I wanna look for tadpoles now, please?"

Sully sighed. "We'll talk about this with your ma when we get home. We'll work somethin' out ..."

& & &

"It takes some children longer than others to learn something new," Michaela said, hands folded as she and Sully stood in front of Teresa Slicker's desk.

"I have been a teacher for many years now," Teresa replied a bit edgily, looking up from a stack of tests she had been leafing through. "I understand that not all children progress at the same speed."

"Ya could be a little more patient with him," Sully spoke up, resting one hand on her desk.

Teresa dipped her pen into the inkwell. "I am doing the best that I can with Byron, just as I do my best with all the children."

"You might have at least told us he was having difficulty, Mrs. Slicker," Michaela said, trying to keep her voice calm.

"I didn't realize he was until recently, Dr. Quinn," she replied. "And it would have made it easier for me if you had let me know before he began that he needed to be taught at a slower pace."

"He ain't slow," Sully retorted defensively. "I know he's real bright. Maybe he just needs a little more help than the other kids gettin' started."

"Have you thought perhaps Byron might try to help me?" Teresa replied.

"What do ya mean?" Sully asked. "He's the one havin' trouble."

Teresa pulled back her chair and stood up. "He can write his name almost perfectly, but any other letter is a challenge for him." She gestured behind her at the cursive alphabet across the top of the blackboard. "Every morning I ask the younger children to copy a few letters from the board. Byron sits quietly with his slate and writes his name."

Michaela and Sully glanced at each other uncertainly.

"At first I allowed him to continue practicing this," Teresa went on. "But now it's time he learn other letters." She laid her pen on the desk. "Byron tells me he can't. How does he know he can't? I don't allow children to give up without even trying in my classroom. First he has to try, then I can see where he needs assistance."

Sully placed his other hand on the desk. "Maybe your classroom ain't the place for him. Maybe he'd be better off not goin' here."

"Sully," Michaela protested, grasping his arm. "Let's talk this through first."

He shrugged her off. "We've talked long enough. We're pullin' him out. Startin' now."

Teresa returned to her seat. " ... As you wish," she said evenly.

Sully turned and walked briskly down the aisle and outside, Michaela following.

"Don't you think we're being a little rash?" she asked, laughter and shouts from the school children at recess surrounding them. "I believe Teresa wants to help, we just have to find a method that works for him. Katie and Brian do so well with her. Byron will catch up and soon he'll love school just like they do."

Sully paused in his steps, turning around to face her. "You didn't want him to go to school in the first place, remember?"

"No," she admitted, "but he had to start sometime. What does this mean? He's never going back again? How is he going to learn to read and write and everything else he needs?"

"We'll teach him," Sully said resolutely.

"We'll teach him? And just how are we going to do that? You're working for Preston, and I have the clinic, and ... and the counseling sessions, and the older children's needs? How am I possibly going to have time to give him proper instruction?"

"Then I'll teach him," Sully replied. "At least until we figure somethin' else out. I'll make time."

"Sully, we can't take him out of school," Michaela said firmly. "I'm not going to teach my son that when something is difficult the answer is to give up. Why can't we make this decision together?"

"I know what it's like to feel like he does, Michaela," he replied softly, stepping closer to her. "Everybody makin' ya feel like ya ain't as good as the other kids, like you ain't good enough for anybody to take a little more time to help ya. I want Byron to learn all the things I never had a chance to, but not if it's gonna make him feel like that. He's my son, too. He's my son, and I can't make him go back there. The decision's made."

Sully quickly scanned the schoolyard, spotting Byron standing beside some older boys beneath a tree, watching intently as they played a game of jacks. "Byron!" he called, holding his hand out.

The child immediately looked up, brightening into a wide smile and scurrying over to his parents.

Sully lifted him into his arms and caressed his head. "Your ma and I talked to your teacher. Ya don't gotta go to school anymore."

"Yea!" Byron squealed, hugging his father's neck.

"I gotta get over to Mr. Lodge's," Sully said, kissing his cheek. "I'll see ya later today, all right?"

Michaela reached up to rub her son's back. As much as she disagreed with Sully's decision to take Byron out of school, was upset he was so unwilling to compromise with her, she was relieved the child was no longer so unhappy. "Will you come with me to the clinic, sweetheart? I could really use your help."

Byron hesitated, looking at his father who gave a nod of encouragement. "All right," he murmured.

Sully put him on the ground and reached up to take Michaela's hand. "I'll be back in time for the counseling this afternoon," he murmured. "I'll pick ya up if you want."

She nodded. "Thank you, Sully. I'll see you later today."

& & &

"We've been working at repairing the sound line of communication you once shared," the Reverend began, taking a seat in a chair he had placed in front of Michaela and Sully, who were seated in the front pew. "Listening to each other builds trust in the relationship. The more we reveal areas of vulnerability to each other the more that trust grows." He paused for a moment, letting the couple consider his words. "Dr. Mike, what do you think about the trust in your marriage?"

She glanced at Sully. "Well, I suppose it's something we've had to work at, but I hope it's as strong as I feel it is."

"And how 'bout you, Sully?" he asked.

Sully slipped his arm lightly around Michaela's back. "I feel the same."

"Good," the Reverend said. "Sully, let's start with you first today. Communication is always difficult, but if we put our trust in our partner we can begin to reveal our deepest feelings and emotions."

Sully shifted uncomfortably, wondering where the Reverend was leading him.

"Dr. Mike's shared some of what she experienced during the time you were missing," he went on. "Now let's have you share some of your experiences from the prison."

Sully tensed, inhaling deeply.

Michaela caressed his arm. "Please, Sully. I know this will help us. Please don't keep it inside any longer."

Sully reluctantly glanced at his wife. He had never wanted to relive anything of what he went through during the four years apart from her, but he decided he would try to speak about it this time, only because Michaela was so sure it would benefit their relationship, only because she believed so strongly in the counseling sessions. "What do ya wanna know?" he whispered cautiously.

"Well ... why don't you begin by describing a typical day," the Reverend suggested.

Sully averted his eyes. "I guess ... first they'd wake us and line us up. They'd do role call. It was by our numbers. I was two hundred four. We were all just a number." He grew silent, gazing out the church window.

" ... Did they provide you with a proper place to wash for the day?" Michaela asked.

He shrugged. "Just a bucket of water. It was real hot there. The water was always warm. Didn't taste too good ... but at least it was somethin'."

Michaela squeezed his arm comfortingly. "New Mexico must be dreadfully hot in the summer. Worse than Colorado I imagine."

"Yeah." He let out his breath. "Sometimes the heat was so bad, we'd drink the water soon as they gave it or it'd dry up 'fore mornin' was over."

"... And for breakfast?" Michaela continued.

He sighed. "I don't really see the point of this."

"Well, we're making progress, Sully," the Reverend said encouragingly. "Maybe you're not ready to talk about everything all at once. We could spread it out over several sessions."

"Yes, we could do that," Michaela agreed.

Sully shook his head. "No." He stood up, looking at Michaela. "There ain't no point in bringin' this all up. I don't want to think about it, I don't want to talk about it, and nobody wants to hear it."

"You don't want to talk to me," Michaela whispered.

He sighed. "No, that ain't what I mean. I want to talk, I do...just not about this. When are ya gonna understand that? When are ya gonna stop pressin' me?"

"I just, I think it would help you, both of us, to work through it," she replied softly.

"Sully-" the Reverend began.

"I'm sorry," he interrupted, "but I can't. I won't."

"Sully, please. Sit down. Talk to me," Michaela begged.

"No," he retorted. "We ain't gonna bring it up anymore and that's the end of it."

The Reverend stood up, taking Sully's arm. "Sully, communication is more than the exchange of facts. I like to think of it as the thread that sews our hearts together. Why don't you sit back down and we'll work through this?"

"No, I'm done. I'm done with this," Sully retorted, frustrated. "I gotta get back to work." He turned and walked briskly down the aisle.

"Sully!" Michaela pleaded. "Please, come back."

He paused briefly. "These meetin's are over, Michaela. They're over. I'm real sorry we wasted so much of your time, Reverend."

& & &

"You're late, Sully," Preston accused, stretched out on a bench on his porch, a tall glass of lemonade on the table beside him.

"No, I ain't," Sully said, dismounting his horse and tying him to the hitching post.

Preston pulled out his pocket watch. "Well, if you planned on taking a two-hour break for lunch than I suppose you're right on time."

"I had to go into town," he murmured. "I had to meet my wife."

"Ah, yes. How is that going, by the way?" Preston asked, standing up.

Sully tensed, pulling on his working gloves. "How's what goin'?"

"Why, things between you and Michaela. We all see you going to church to see the Reverend. It's obvious why you're there."

"We quit that," Sully retorted. "Or at least I did."

"Oh, my," Preston bemoaned. "Well, I don't blame you for being overwrought, Sully. I can't imagine what it must be like to know one's wife shared your bed with another man. A shame they never got around to building their own homestead. Certainly makes things awkward."

Sully yanked his gloves on tighter and picked up the toolbox, walking briskly to his work site at the side of the homestead.

Preston picked up his lemonade and descended the steps to follow him. "Of course, she didn't know you were alive," he called. "But it's still quite a precarious situation, isn't it?"

Sully picked up a hammer, squeezing the handle tight. "I don't really think it's any of your business, Preston."

"No, I suppose your right," Preston said. "Just the same, Sully, I'd like to offer you and Michaela the finest room at my Chateau. Perhaps you two would find it valuable to spend some time alone."

"Thanks, but I don't think so," Sully said, placing a nail in a board and tapping it with the hammer.

"Oh? And why not?"

"We ain't interested in stayin' in your hotel," he said, hitting the nail fast.

"Oh, that's curious. I don't think Michaela feels that way."

Sully looked up, taken off guard. "What do ya mean?"

Preston bit his lip. "Well...never mind. It's nothing."

"What?" Sully pressed.

He shrugged. "I only meant that Michaela seems quite fond of the Chateau. She and Mr. Brooks spent their wedding night in the honeymoon suite. Yes, as I remember they barely left the room their entire stay. But that's really of no relevance..."

Sully raised the hammer and brought it down hard, driving the nail deep into the board. "About this job, Preston," he began, throat tight. "I took it for the money but-"

"What? Don't be ridiculous. Your pay is more than fair," Preston chided. "Well, speaking of the Chateau, it's time I return. I believe your next payment is due tomorrow. I'll be docking an hour from it and I expect you to stay that extra hour today to make up for your extensive break for lunch."

Sully stared at the board, hammering another nail fast and hard. He had always tried to avoid thinking about Michaela and Cal together, but Preston was bent on forcing it. It was all he could do not to knock him off his feet and pin him to the ground. Michaela and Cal, together in Preston's hotel, while he pined for his wife in a sweltering, odorous, miserable prison. He felt a painful knot in his stomach he could do nothing to relieve. "...It ain't worth it," he murmured.

to be continued...


	57. Chapter 70

Chapter Seventy

Sully carefully drew a row of letter t's across the slate, Byron watching from the opposite end of the table, pencil in hand. Finally Sully turned the slate to face the little boy and propped it up.

"All right. Try copying these," Sully instructed. "This is a 't'. It makes a 'tuh' sound. Like in ... like in tomahawk."

"Tuh. Tom-hawk," Byron repeated.

"That's right. Good," Sully encouraged. "Write these down now."

Byron squeezed his pencil, brow narrowed as he poised it over the paper and kept it there, unmoving. Sully watched him for a long moment, at last resting the slate back on the table. "What is it, son? What's the matter?"

Byron looked up dejectedly, dropping his pencil to the table. "Papa, I can't!'

Sully stood up and came to his side. "Sure ya can. Come on."

He shook his head. "I can't," he whimpered. "I can't get this."

Sully rubbed his back. "Oh, it's not as hard as ya think. Look, just pick up your pencil and write what ya see over there on the slate. It's all right if ya don't understand what you're writing just yet. Ya gotta try it first, like your teacher says."

Byron rested his arms on the table and let out a sigh, tears threatening. "Everybody else can write 'cept me. I'm no good at this."

"Byron, I know ya can do it. Ya just gotta try," Sully told him.

"Pa?" Brian called from the kitchen. "Pa, can ya help me with this a minute?"

Sully patted Byron's back. "Look, you take a break for now. I'll be back." He walked into the kitchen where Michaela and Katie were washing and rinsing the last of the dishes. Brian stood nearby in front of the table, filling a crate with dried goods.

"I can't fit all that we bought in this last crate," Brian explained.

Sully glanced at Michaela. She hadn't said a word about the table stacked with crates for the coming Saturday's trip to the Reservation, yet was expressing her disapproval, the same as she did every week, through her silence.

"Try putting 'em in this way," Sully suggested quietly, pulling out a sack of beans and repositioning it so it sat horizontally in the crate.

"Yeah, that'll work," Brian said, taking out the remaining sacks for repacking. "Thanks."

Michaela turned slightly from the sink, a soapy plate in hand. "How are you coming with Byron?"

"I ain't sure," Sully replied softly. "Not so good I guess. Teresa's right, Michaela. He won't even try."

"That just doesn't sound like him," Michaela replied, shaking her head as she placed the dish in the sink for Katie to rinse. "He's always been so eager to learn. He's full of questions about everything, wanting to know what things are or how they work. And he loves being read to."

"He was talkin' in sentences when he was two, right, Ma?" Brian spoke up helpfully, placing the lid on the crate and picking up a hammer and nail.

"Yes, he's always been very articulate," Michaela replied. "Still, I suppose that doesn't mean everything will come to him as easily. Perhaps-perhaps he does need to be taught ... at a slower pace than other children."

Sully put his hands on his hips. "No, it ain't that he can't learn. It's somethin' else. It's gotta be."

"I suppose for now we'll just have to keep persisting," Michaela replied.

"Yeah," Sully murmured. "I best get back to him now."

"Good luck, Pa," Brian said as he tapped the nail into one corner of the lid.

Sully turned back to the dining room, readying himself to resume the struggle with his son, when he was met with an elated grin.

"I did it!" Byron exclaimed, holding up his paper in one hand and the slate he had copied from in the other. "Papa, look!"

Sully sat beside him and scanned the paper. Byron had indeed written a row of letter t's across the top, his penmanship a little shaky, but discernable all the same. "Ya did it," Sully said. "Ya did it! See, I told you ya could."

Byron rubbed the slate clean with one hand and then handed it to him. "Teach me another one!"

"Michaela, come here," Sully called as he circled back to the end of the table and picked up the slate pencil. "Here, let's try 'A' next." He quickly scratched the letter and held up the slate, surprised to see Byron's almost immediate look of disdain.

"No, Papa. I can't no more," he protested, dropping his pencil.

"But ya just did it," Sully told him as Michaela walked into the room, drying her hands on a towel. "Byron, what is it? Ya just wrote those t's perfect." He gazed up at his wife hopefully. "Look at his paper, Michaela. Look what he wrote."

Michaela peered over her son's shoulder at the paper with a smile. "Oh, sweetheart. So you can do it. Write some a's now."

"No, Mama," he cried. "I can't no more! I got dumb again!"

Sully slowly rose to his feet, struck by an idea. He walked the length of the table and put the slate in front of the child. "Can ya copy these now?" he asked.

"Yeah!" Byron replied enthusiastically, immediately picking up his pencil and setting to work, biting his lip in concentration.

Michaela caressed the child's shoulder. "I don't understand. Why couldn't he do it before?"

"He can't see 'em," Sully said softly.

"What?" she questioned, taken aback.

"He can't see 'em," he said more confidently. "He can't see letters from far away. That's why he was havin' trouble in school. 'Cause he couldn't see the board to copy 'em in the first place."

"No, that's ridiculous," Michaela protested, unable to believe it and even more unwilling to believe she hadn't come to the same conclusion first. She picked up the slate, wiping away the 'a' with the corner of her apron as she walked across the room, and wrote a capital 'B.' "What's this letter, Byron?" she asked, turning the slate to face him.

He frowned. "I don't know."

"Yes you do," she insisted. "Now Mama knows you know this one. Come on, tell me what it is."

"Mama, I don't know! Really!" he said persistently.

Eyes lowered, Michaela placed the slate back in front of him.

"B!" Byron shouted triumphantly. "B!"

"See? He can only read it up close," Sully said. "Michaela, ya think ya can help him see better?" He reached out and touched her arm. "Then he can go back to school and be all caught up in no time."

She nodded, a sudden wave of despondency washing over her. Sully was so incredibly in tune with Byron. They spent nearly all their time together, talked and laughed for hours, and now Sully had discovered what was troubling the little boy before even she had. In short, her son had everything she wanted with her husband. Every day that passed she felt herself being pulled farther and farther apart from Sully. It seemed all they had in common anymore was Byron and the other children. The children were all their conversations were about, even when they quarreled. Of course she loved Brian, Katie and Byron with all her heart, but when she imagined the idea of rebuilding their marriage on their children, her heart sank. That wasn't fair to anyone.

"What's the matter?" Sully questioned, interrupting her thoughts. "You can help him, can't ya? Give him some spectacles for school maybe?"

"Yes, I'll examine him tomorrow at the clinic," she said softly. "I need to finish the dishes now, Sully."

"All right," he murmured, sensing her distraught but not knowing what to do. "We'll be in here, learnin' more letters," he added, briefly squeezing her arm.

& & &

Michaela slid a small pair of wire spectacles behind Byron's ears, straightening them as she leaned back and scrutinized their fit. Byron blinked curiously, glancing around the clinic front room with wide eyes as Michaela made a few final adjustments.

"There," she murmured at last, picking up the mirror from her desk and holding it in front of the child hopefully.

"What do you think, son?" Sully asked, arms folded, standing beside Brian and Katie back by the door.

Byron studied his new reflection apprehensively. "I gotta keep these on all day long?" he asked dejectedly.

"Well, no, not all day," Michaela reassured him. "For now just when you need to see the board." She nodded across the room at the eye chart hanging on the wall. "Can you read some of those letters, sweetheart?"

He scanned the letters until he came to one familiar to him. "T!" he announced. "Like in tom-hawk!"

Sully stepped forward, holding out a small leather pouch the length of the child's spectacles, a small beaded design stitched on the front. "Made ya this, Byron," he said softly, putting it in his hands. "When you're not wearing those you can put 'em in here for safe keeping."

Byron smiled, glancing up at him admiringly. He reached his hand up to pull off the spectacles, ready to try out the new case, but Michaela grasped his arm before he could touch them.

"Brynie, let's have you keep them on for a few minutes, just to get used to them," she said.

The little boy looked back at his reflection, sighing softly. Katie stepped forward with a small smile, eyeing the spectacles and then pecking her little brother's cheek.

"You look han'some," she said sweetly.

Byron smiled back at her, settling into the change with the help of everyone's encouragement. "Thanks."

"Yeah. And ya look real ... studious," Brian added, giving the little boy a squeeze on his shoulder.

"What's that mean?" Byron asked.

Michaela smoothed back his hair and kissed his head. "It means they make you look very clever. And that's exactly what you are, sweetheart. All right, you can take them off now. Be careful, though. Gently."

Byron promptly whisked off the spectacles and slid them between the two folds of newly skinned leather. He clutched the case to his chest with a wide smile, markedly more pleased with Sully's gift than the improvement to his eyesight.

Brian glanced at the clock, then at his father, catching his eye. Sully nodded in response, laying his hand on Byron's shoulder and kissing his brow.

"We gotta get goin' now," Sully told him. "You and Katie be good while we're gone."

"Going where, Sully?" Michaela asked.

"The reservation, Ma, remember?" Brian spoke up, removing his hat from the hook behind the door.

"Oh. Yes, of course," she murmured. She had grown to dread Saturdays. Brian and Sully usually spent all day at the reservation, which meant she spent all day worrying about them.

"I can go, too, Papa," Byron said, sliding down from the chair.

Sully hesitated for a brief moment, far too long for Michaela's liking.

"No. Absolutely not," she said firmly, grasping the little boy and drawing him to her side protectively.

"How come?" Byron questioned unhappily. "I wanna go, Mama. I go feed Indians 'cause Papa says they're real hungry."

"Sully, you can't take him," Michaela said, her distress rising. "It's just far too dangerous. I won't let you involve him, too."

Sully bent to Byron's level. "Strawberries are comin' up, son. Saw some wild ones by the road. Brian and me, we'll stop on the way back and pick you some. Enough for Katie and your ma, too."

Byron wavered for several seconds, clasping his hands together absently. "All right ... but I still wanna go," he said determinedly.

Sully kissed his brow once more and stood up. "I know. When you're older," he murmured. He clasped Michaela's hand. "We'll be all right," he said, looking her in the eyes.

She looked back silently, her hand growing cool with apprehension. "Be careful," she whispered. "Please, Sully."

"I know. We always are," he replied. He leaned forward, intending to give her lips a soft kiss in parting. Seeing it coming, Michaela turned her head ever so slightly so that his lips grazed her cheek. She regretted it immediately. She knew that was certainly not the way to show Sully how concerned she was, how upset she was at him for causing her such worry every single Saturday without fail, but it was already too late to take anything back.

Sully swallowed, opening disappointed, hurt eyes on her. Awkwardly, she pulled her hand from his. "I'll put out plates for you and Brian," she said hoarsely.

He nodded. "We'll be back plenty in time for supper."

& & &

"Looks like we're gonna have that tree house done just in time for Katie's birthday," Sully remarked, flicking the reins as the wagon ascended a small hill a few miles outside of the Reservation.

"Yep, it's comin' along real good," Brian agreed. He glanced at his father tentatively. "Know what? I think Katie's gonna climb up into it for the first time and be so happy she'll climb right back down and give us all a big hug. You, too, Pa."

He flicked the reins again, eyes focused on the road. "That'd be real nice."

Brian folded his arms. "You'll see," he said optimistically. "She's gonna think it's the greatest."

Sully patted his back, mustering a small though hopeful smile.

"How come you and Ma don't go to see the Reverend any more?" Brian asked suddenly.

Sully gazed up at the overcast sky as a pair of hawks soared leisurely overhead. "It just wasn't helping, Brian."

He shifted in his seat impatiently. "Well, I don't think ya gave it much of a chance. You ain't givin' Ma enough of a chance."

"Takes two to make things like that work," Sully replied softly. "I gotta put in time and effort but so does your ma."

"I guess." He sighed, crossing his arms. "I s'pose it's a good thing they never had a baby. Woulda made things a lot harder."

Sully flinched, glancing at his son. "A baby?"

Brian swallowed uncomfortably, immediately realizing his father had no idea what he was talking about and regretting bringing it up. "Well, yeah. Ma and Cal, I mean," he stammered.

"They wanted that?" Sully asked, throat tight.

Brian tried to shrug nonchalantly. "They talked to me and B. and Katie about it. Ma said a baby would be part of the whole family so the whole family should be in on it. No promises, she told us, but they wanted us to know just the same."

"What'd you say?" Sully pressed.

"That it was all right with me I guess. That's what they wanted me to say I s'pose."

Sully grew quiet. Not only had Michaela married this man but they had been trying for a baby. He shuddered to think what it would have been like returning home only to discover Michaela pregnant with another man's child. He couldn't begin to comprehend how he might have felt about that. He didn't want to think about it. He nodded up at the sky, trying to take his mind off the idea. "See the hawks?"

Brian followed his gaze, eyes brightening. "Yeah. I think they know it's gonna storm. I bet they're flying back to their nest."

"Maybe," Sully murmured, watching his son fondly. "Ya know there's one thing I'm sure of, Brian, and that's that I'm real glad to have ya back."

"I'm real glad you're here, too, Pa," he said with a smile. "I'm glad we can do things together like this. I know us bein' out at the Reservation makes Ma worry and I don't want that, but this ... this means too much to me to up and quit. I think some things are worth taking chances for if it means a lot of people are gonna be better for it."

Sully squeezed his shoulder. "I'm real proud of ya, son. Your ma is, too, in her own way."

"Yeah. I know-" Brian grasped the seat tightly as he felt the wagon lurch forward. The horse let out a startled whinny and broke into a swift trot.

"Whoa. Whoa, boy!" Sully shouted, pulling hard on the reins.

Brian leaned over the seat and looked down, eyes widening. "Pa, the wheel on my side, it's shakin' something awful!"

"Stay put, Brian!" he ordered, jumping down to the ground, running up to the horse and grabbing his bridle. "Whoa! Whoa, there. Easy. Easy, boy." Gradually the horse slowed his pace until finally he stopped. "Thata boy. Easy." Sully patted the horse's shoulder reassuringly. "Put the break on the wagon, son," he called.

Brian obeyed immediately, pulling back the heavy brake handle with two hands. "What happened?" he asked anxiously as he climbed down from the seat.

Sully circled around the horse to the wheel in question, bending to his knees to examine it more closely. "Something's loose here," he determined, running his hand down a dusty spoke.

Brian squatted beside him. "Maybe a bolt's loose. That's what happened to the stagecoach Ma was in, back before Byron was born, when it got in that accident comin' home from Denver ..." He trailed off, swallowing uncomfortably. "I mean ... maybe-"

Sully looked up at him. Brian's unintentional mention of a past he had nothing to do with stung him briefly. Still, there wasn't time now to reflect once more on all he had missed. He had to focus on repairing the wheel so that they could bring the wagonload of food to the Reservation. "My toolbox should be under the seat. Let's see if we can't fix this."

Brian climbed back into the wagon, mouth suddenly going dry as he glanced out at the horizon. "Pa! Soldiers!" he cried.

Sully stood up, shielding his eyes. Two patrollers in full uniform were galloping down the hill toward them, faces set stern and rigid. "Hand me my toolbox, Brian," he said. "You stay up there. Let me do the talkin'."

Brian bit his lips uncertainly, managing to nod.

"Mornin', gentlemen," Sully called as they approached.

"Mr. Sully," one of the soldiers replied as they dismounted their horses and approached him. "What seems to be the trouble here?"

Sully removed a hammer from his toolbox. "No trouble. We've just busted our wheel."

The soldier eyed the wheel skeptically, giving it a light kick with the toe of his polished black boat.

"So if ya don't mind, Sergeant," Sully went on. "I'd like to get to fixin' it so we can be on our way."

The sergeant scratched his sprouting whiskers. "What ya got there under your tarp?"

"Nothin' of interest to ya," Sully replied nonchalantly.

"Let's just let me be the judge of that, Mr. Sully." The sergeant glanced at his partner, nodding swiftly at the wagon. "Jones, find out what's under their tarp."

"Yes, sir," the young man replied, swatting at a fly with his hand as he threw back the canvas that covered the stacks of crates. He twitched his nose. "It's boxes, sir."

"What's that?" the sergeant asked.

"It's boxes, sir!" he replied more loudly. "Crates!"

"For God sakes. Open one of them up, man!" he ordered impatiently.

"Yes, sir!" the soldier replied immediately, prying open a lid and pulling out several slabs of beef jerky. He returned to his superior, handing him the meat. "Beef jerky, sir."

"I can see that," he muttered. "Mr. Sully, would ya be so kind as to explain to me what exactly ya plan on doin' with a wagon full of beef jerky? Don't tell me ya aim to eat this all yourself."

Sully shifted his weight, faltering. Quickly, he tried to think of a way to stall. "We, uh-we were thinkin' of turnin' back. Looks like a storm's brewin'..."

"... An epidemic!" Brian spoke up eagerly, sensing his father's fast-growing panic.

The sergeant looked up at the boy for the first time, squinting his eyes. "What?"

Brian averted his eyes, thinking up an excuse as rapidly as he could. "An epidemic," he repeated. "The stage was cut off, and folks might starve. The-the grippe."

Sully glanced at Brian nervously, sweat breaking out at his hairline. "That's right."

"And where is this epidemic?" the sergeant went on, taking a large bite of the beef jerky.

Brian's eyes darted back and forth as he remembered a small town Sully had once mentioned. "Silver Cliff, sir!" he said firmly.

The sergeant chewed slowly, eyes still focused on Brian. "Silver Cliff, huh? I didn't hear about no epidemic in Silver Cliff. You hear about that, Jones?"

The soldier removed his hat. "No, sir. I didn't hear nothin'," he replied.

"Doctor there wired my wife just today," Sully added, his confidence growing. "Asked us for help. What with the stage cut off, we figure the first thing to do is send 'em provisions."

"Dr. Mike-my ma-she's gonna follow us out there tomorrow, see what she can do for the sick," Brian put in assertively.

Sully swallowed, crouching down to the ground and focusing on the wheel. "I don't get started on this we won't be there by dark."

The sergeant threw the remainder of his jerky aside, eyebrows narrowed. "Maybe you're tellin' the truth, Mr. Sully. But this here road leads straight past the Reservation, too. I've seen your boy there far too much for my likin' and if I find out you've been there, too, that you're lyin' to me ... I ain't gonna be a happy man."

Sully took out a screwdriver from his toolbox and began prying at one of the spokes on the wheel, unspeaking.

Growling, the sergeant gave him a hard, sharp kick in the ribs, sending Sully collapsing to the ground with a low groan.

"Pa!" Brian shouted, standing up in the wagon.

"Ya hear what I said?" the sergeant spat, grabbing Sully's collar and raising him to his feet. "I ain't forgotten ya. Nobody's forgotten who ya are, what ya did to help those Injuns escape, the murder charge that woman of yours got ya out of. I ain't no fool. I find out what you're really doin' I'll throw your Injun-lovin' carcass right back in jail ... where ya belong!" He pushed him back to the ground. "Come on, Jones," he said, turning for their horses. "Stop starin' and let's get the hell out of here."

& & &

Byron carefully laid a fork on the napkin at each place setting as Katie carried a basket of biscuits to the table, followed by Michaela with a platter of steaming ham.

"I suppose we'll just have to start without them," Michaela said, placing the ham beside her plate and lifting Byron into his chair. "Besides it's getting dark and we need to get you two to bed soon."

"But they said they'd be home in time to eat," Katie remarked, climbing into her chair and glancing at the empty place setting beside her.

"I know, but they must have been held up by this rain," Michaela told her, taking a seat at the head of the table. "They'll be back soon, Katie." A small twinge of worry tightened her throat. Still, they were only an hour or so late. That was no reason to truly be concerned. She held out her hands. "Byron, it's your turn to say grace for us, isn't it?"

He nodded with a grin, taking her hand and squeezing his eyes shut. "Um ... Thank you for the beans and milk and ham and biscuits. And the pie from Miz Gwace. And please don't let Papa and Brian get all wet 'cause it's raining pretty hard out there and I think maybe they might get wet. A-men."

"Amen," Michaela echoed, her eyes falling on the two empty chairs at the opposite end of the table. Just as she picked up the carving knife to slice the ham, a harsh pounding on the front door echoed throughout the house.

Katie flinched with surprise, drawing in her breath. "Who is that, Mama?"

"It's maybe Papa!" Byron exclaimed, turning in his chair. "I'll go see!"

Michaela grasped his arm as she rose to her feet. "No. Byron, Katie, stay here." She peered through the stained glass, the color rapidly draining from her face. Soldiers. "Stay there," she repeated firmly. Gathering courage and all the poise she could manage, she opened the door.

to be continued...


	58. Chapter 71

Chapter Seventy-one

"Evenin', ma'am," the sergeant said, removing his rain-soaked navy blue hat and shaking it out on the porch.

Michaela nodded, instantly thinking of Brian and Sully and wondering if the soldiers had anything to do with them not coming home on time. "What can I do for you?"

"Don't believe we've formally met," he replied briskly. "I'm Sergeant Wright. This here's Private Jones."

"Ma'am," Jones said, cradling a long rifle in his hand and glancing behind her at the children, standing on their chairs, watching the scene with wide eyes. "We won't keep ya long. We know ya got a busy day tomorrow what with seein' to that epidemic."

She raised her eyebrows questioningly. "Epidemic? What epidemic?"

"Why, the grippe," Jones went on. "Out there in Silver Cliff."

"The grippe ... " Michaela stopped short, utterly baffled. Again, she thought of Brian and Sully. Something had gone terribly wrong, she was sure of it. Instinctively, she attempted to humor the idea. "Oh-oh, yes, of course," she stammered. "You mean the influenza. Tomorrow. Silver Cliff."

"Right," the sergeant mumbled skeptically, handing her a rain-specked, rolled up document. "Orders from the corporal. You're to give it to Mr. Sully."

"What is it?" Michaela asked apprehensively, unrolling the paper and skimming the words.

"It's all explained right there," the sergeant said impatiently.

"Five-mile radius ... You can't do this," she protested, looking up. "You can't just give an order like this without any just cause."

"Hey, the corporal can do whatever he damn well pleases," Jones informed her decisively, stepping forward.

"Be quiet, Jones," the sergeant scolded.

"Sergeant," Michaela went on firmly, "Please, I demand to know what evidence you have to impart an ordinance of this nature."

"Evidence!" The sergeant shoved her aside forcibly and burst through the door, glancing around the room

"Mama!" Byron cried as Katie instantly burst into tears.

"Stay right there, Byron!" Michaela shouted, quickly positioning herself between the table and the soldiers and pausing to glance at the mantle across the room.

"I'll tell ya about evidence!" the sergeant continued. "We had all the evidence in the world to have Sully swingin' from a tree in a week's time! All we had to do was get a hold of him! Don't ya realize Grant only gave ya that pardon to shut you up? The man felt sorry for ya, that's all! Anybody would! On your own, with child, the father disappeared without a trace." He glanced at Byron, pointing a finger at him. "Is that him? Is that the brat Sully left ya with? That there is how ya got that pardon! This time, ya ain't gonna be so lucky. This time I'll bring ya the body myself!"

Michaela shuddered as Katie's tears intensified. "Get out of our house and off our property, Sergeant."

Jones scratched his sprouting whiskers, watching the crying children uncomfortably. "Let's go, sir," he spoke up boldly.

The sergeant grasped the doorknob. "Ya'll be sure to tell Sully I stopped by, won't ya?" With that the two men turned back to the porch, Michaela shutting the door securely after them.

"Why'd h-he be so mean to ya, Mama?" Byron whimpered, climbing down from his chair.

Michaela hurried to his side, picking him up. "Shh, I know. It's all right now," she said as she circled the table to sit beside Katie. She settled them each in her lap, hugging them close.

"Mama, they yelled," Katie said tearfully. "They had big guns."

"I think they just wanted to frighten Mama, that's all," Michaela said reassuringly. "They didn't really mean all of that."

"What's he mean 'bout Papa's gonna go swing?" Byron asked, rubbing his cheeks of drying tears. "I wanna swing, too."

She caressed their heads. "Oh, sweethearts. Are you all right? I'm so sorry." She kissed them and held them to her, eyes shut as she thought of how grateful she was the soldiers had not crossed the line that she had drawn between herself and the children. She had kept one eye on the rifle hanging over the mantel the entire ordeal, waiting for an opportunity to grab it. If the soldiers had gone after Katie or Byron, she was terrified of what she might be capable of doing.

"Mama, I don't want that big man pushin' ya," Byron said heatedly, clutching her skirts protectively. "I'm tellin' on him to Papa."

"No, shh. I'll tell Papa," she said. "I'll tell him." She tried to smile. "Look, the ham's getting cold. Let's eat our supper."

"I'm not hungry," Katie murmured, holding on tighter.

"I just want pie," Byron said, putting a finger in his mouth for comfort.

"Yeah, me, too," Katie agreed.

Michaela kissed their heads. "Well, I suppose just this once having pie first couldn't hurt, hm?"

& & &

Michaela paced restlessly in front of the fireplace, one hand pressed to her mouth as her mind conjured up images of all that might have delayed Sully and Brian. Her worst fear was that the army had discovered their plan and that they were being detained for questioning. Who knew where things could go from there. The two soldiers who had come by earlier in the evening had not helped ease her worries. The ordinance they had given her, offering little details, she now squeezed tightly in her fist.

She shuddered as a bolt of lightening lit up the sitting room. Then again, perhaps this ordinance had nothing to do with why they were so late. She glanced at the clock on the mantle. Six hours past due now. Perhaps lightening had struck a tree, blocking the road, or the wagon had gotten trapped in the mud, or ...

She hurried to the window, letting out a great sigh of relief as she heard a horse braying in the yard. They were back.

Grabbing her shawl, Michaela ran out the door into the downpour. The wagon was still brimming with the stacks of crates for the Indians. Apparently, they had never even made it to the Reservation. "Brian!" she called. "Sully!"

"We're fine, Michaela!" Sully shouted through the rain as he climbed carefully down to the ground, Brian holding his arm in support. "Get back inside!"

Grudgingly she backed up and returned indoors. While Sully and Brian unhitched the wagon she busied herself with laying out a pile of thick towels, blankets, a change of dry clothes for each of them, and putting a kettle on the stove for tea.

At last Sully and Brian came inside, out of breath, clothes muddy and soaked through.

"Are you all right?" Michaela asked, voice breaking as she handed them each a towel.

"Just a little wet, Ma, that's all," Brian said quietly.

"... Thank God." Emotions threatening to upset her control, Michaela wrapped her arms around them tightly, not caring if her clothes became wet. "What on earth happened? It's after midnight and I've been worried sick." She pulled back slowly and turned for the kitchen.

Sully glanced at Brian as they walked to the fireplace. "One of the wagon wheels broke. We had to stop and fix it, then the storm came up and slowed us down."

"Sorry we're so late," Brian added helpfully, rubbing his damp hair with the towel.

She returned to them with cups of steaming tea. "Two soldiers rode out here during supper, banging on our door and frightening the children."

Sully instantly tensed, taking a cup from her. "You all right?" he asked quickly. "What'd they want?"

Michaela handed him the ordinance. "They were only here a few minutes, but they gave me this. Sully, it states you're not to be within a five-mile radius of the reservation until further notice! What does it mean?"

Sully scanned the document, brow fixed, Brian looking over his shoulder.

"I don't believe this," he murmured, turning to face the fireplace.

"They were saying something about a town with the influenza," she went on. "Sully, I had no idea what they were talking about. I-I just went along with it."

Sully crumpled the ordinance in a ball and tossed it into the fire. "They were out patrollin' and saw us tendin' to the wheel. Wanted to know what we were doin' with all that food."

She sunk into one of the wingback chairs, drawing in her breath. "I knew something like this would happen eventually."

"We were all right, Ma," Brian told her reassuringly, taking a sip of the tea. "We just explained we were bringin' the food to folks with influenza, told 'em you were comin' out tomorrow to help. I think they bought it."

"Then you lied to them," Michaela whispered. "You deceived them and then you forced me to do the same."

"I know, but we had to," Brain replied. "And 'sides, you've lied to the army before, too. Back when you first came here and we were hidin' Black Kettle in the barn-you told 'em ya didn't know a thing about it, remember?"

"I just fear for your well-being, that's all," she whispered, staring at her hands. "So much has happened since then. Things have changed."

"Yeah, I guess a lot of things have changed," Brian muttered.

"That's enough, Brian," Sully said, voice firm. "Go on up to bed now. Ya still got school bright and early tomorrow."

"Yes, sir," Brian murmured, stepping forward and kissing his mother's cheek. " ... G'night, Ma."

She closed her eyes. "Goodnight, Brian ... I'm glad you're home safe."

Sully turned back to the fire, watching the last of the ordinance dissolve into the flickering flames. "I'm sorry they came out here, Michaela," he began slowly. "Didn't mean for that to happen."

"They frightened me half to death, Sully," she admitted quietly. "And then when you didn't come home on time ... I thought things would be different now." She stood up, joining him in front of the fire. "You're still not telling me things. You're still doing things behind my back. You never would have told me all that really happened had those soldiers not come to the homestead. How are we supposed to build a relationship together if I'm going to be fearing for your life all the time and now Brian's, too? I can't live like this again."

"I wanted to protect ya," he said plainly.

"Since when have I asked to be protected?" she demanded. "Is it wrong of me to want to know when my husband and son are in danger?"

"We ain't in danger," he retorted.

"Then that ordinance wasn't truly serious," she replied sarcastically. "That part about prosecuting you to the fullest extent of the law should you violate it was just a simple formality!"

He turned swiftly to face her, eyes dark. "What do you expect me to do, Michaela? Let 'em starve? That's not what I want to teach our kids, that just because somebody in government thinks they know it all means that everythin' they say is the right thing to do! That's not how I want our kids to grow up!"

"If you even get to see them grow up! Do you even think about the children when you take these risks? Byron and Katie?" she asked. "They were so startled by those soldiers they could barely stop crying! You try explaining to a sobbing child why the army came to our home, about the government and the Indians and what's the right thing to do, the right thing to risk one's life for! How can we expect Katie to form a bond with you when she might lose you all over again? I want to help the Indians, too. They're my friends, too. But I'm torn. We have two small children now we have to consider. Our family to consider."

"What is this about, Michaela?" he asked, resting his hands on her shoulders. "Are ya thinkin' about what happened before? I've told ya this ain't the same. I promised ya I'd never take a risk like that again. Ain't that what the Reverend was saying was so important? Trust? Don't ya trust me to keep that promise?"

"Four years ago you disappeared, Sully," she said hoarsely. "And there was nothing I could do. I'd never felt so helpless in my life. Then when you didn't come home this afternoon, and those soldiers showed up, I ... it all came back. Of course I trust you ... but certain things are out of our control."

"Michaela." He drew her into his arms, pressing her head to his chest. "That's all over now. Ya can't keep thinkin' it's gonna happen again."

"I can't help it," she choked out. "I just never want any of us to even come close to going through that again. I couldn't bear it if... I know I wouldn't survive it this time, Sully. You just came back into our lives."

He kissed her hair guiltily, rocking her. She closed her eyes, wrapping her arms more tightly around him, not sure what more to say. Suddenly Sully drew in his breath in a pained gasp, brow narrowing.

Michaela looked up instantly, letting go. "What is it? Are you hurt?"

He shook his head, bringing his hand up to finger his ribs. "It's nothin'."

She eyed him doubtfully, pulling his hand away and carefully applying gentle pressure to his ribcage with her fingers. "Is this painful?"

"A little I guess," he admitted. "One of the soldiers ... he kicked me in the side before I knew it was comin'."

"Oh, Sully," she breathed. "Sit down, take off your shirt. I'll get my bag." She returned moments later as he was slipping his arms from the sleeves of his button down shirt. Lips pursed in concentration, she knelt beside him and probed her fingers tenderly over the area in question.

"I don't think anythin's broken," Sully spoke up.

She shook her head. "No, neither do I. You're going to have a good bruise here tomorrow though. Let me get you some ice."

He sat patiently as she moved around the kitchen putting together a soft cloth filled with ice. She returned a minute later, kneeling beside him and pressing the pack to his injury.

"Thanks," he murmured, placing his hand atop hers.

"I'll hold it for you," she replied, putting his hand back on the arm of the chair. "You just sit and rest."

He smiled at her doting attention. "Ya've always taken care of me."

"No, you've always taken care of me," she corrected softly.

Lightening from the slowly passing storm struck nearby, bathing them in a temporary wash of bright light. Sully leaned forward in the darkness that followed, pressing a gentle kiss to her brow, the tip of her nose, and finally her lips. Michaela slowly rose to her knees, forgetting the ice as she reached up to stroke back his damp hair. She tilted her head back slightly, emitting a quiet sigh as Sully nuzzled her neck with moist lips, his hands moving down her arms to caress her backside and nudge her closer.

Michaela gave another sigh and let her head fall back further, giving him greater access. Everything always seemed so much simpler when she and Sully were together. She cherished deeply holding him and loving him, especially after being apart for so long, but at the same time it frightened her. They couldn't bury their troubles with their kisses and caresses forever.

Gradually, Michaela pulled pack, pressing her fingers to his lips. "I hear footsteps," she whispered.

Sully looked up at the stairwell as their little girl came into view, in her nightgown, sniffling, face tear-streaked.

Michaela met her at the bottom of the stairs and lifted her into her arms.

"Mama, I'm scared," Katie whimpered, burying her head against her mother's shoulder.

"Of the thunder?" Michaela asked. "Oh, it's all right, sweetheart. Mama's here." She glanced at Sully. "Mama and Papa are here. Let's get you back to bed. I'll tell you a little story, hm?"

The child clasped her hands around her mother's neck. "All right."

"I'll just take her up ... " Michaela whispered awkwardly.

Sully nodded, lowering his head. The moment of closeness they had shared, however short-lived, was as wonderful as it had always been. Still, it had indeed been brief. Too brief to offer him anything more than a fleeting hope that things could ever be the same again.

& & &

"Happy birthday!" Byron exclaimed, bounding onto Katie's bed and throwing his arms around her neck.

Katie awoke with a startled cry, then burst into giggles as Michaela and Brian came into the room, Brian carrying a muffin with a small candle lit in the center. Sully lingered in the doorway, knowing Katie would prefer it that way, and looked on with a soft smile.

"Happy birthday, Katie," Brian spoke up, taking a seat beside her. "Make a wish."

Katie giggled louder and blew out the candle, pushing back the bedcovers as her mother attempted to smooth the child's sleep tousled hair. She soon gave up, laughed, and kissed Katie's cheek. "Happy birthday, sweetheart."

"Time for your birthday present!" Byron spoke up, sliding down from the bed eagerly.

Katie raised her eyebrows questioningly as she followed Byron out of bed. "But ... the party's later."

"We'll give you the rest of your presents then," Michaela said, "but we all thought it would be all right to let you go up in the tree house right now. I don't think you're going to be able to wait until this afternoon!"

"Yea!" Katie cried, brightening into a wide smile. "Thank you!" She made a dart for the door, but Michaela caught her by the arm just in time and drew her back to her waist.

"Let's get you in some clothes and these tangles out of your hair first," Michaela said. "Then you can go see the tree house!"

"You're gonna love it inside, Katie," Brian said. "Wait till ya see." He took his younger brother's hand. "Come on, B. Let Katie get changed. Pa and us'll wait for her downstairs." He shut the door after them as Michaela circled around the bed and opened the bureau. "What would you like to wear? Anything special?"

Katie scurried to the window and peeked out into the shady trees behind the homestead. "I can see it from here, Mama. I see the curtains ya made for me. Brian made the ladder. And Byron helped paint it, see? Even I helped paint a little." She sighed blissfully, eyes aglow. "Thank you, Mama."

Michaela returned to her side and wrapped her arms around her from behind. "Your papa helped, too," she whispered.

Katie immediately sobered, her eyes falling from the window. "I know," she muttered.

Michaela stepped back and took her hand. "Come here. Let's sit down," she said invitingly, sinking into the small chair placed beside the window and drawing the child into her lap. She held the little girl silently for a moment, resting her chin on her fair head. "Do you know what I was doing exactly six years ago this morning?"

Katie thought a moment, letting her hands rest atop her mothers. " ... Having me?" she asked at last.

Michaela smiled, nodding. "That's right. And fully convinced you were never going to come! But your daddy sat right with me and wouldn't let me give up on you. He kept promising me I'd be holding you before I knew it, and he was exactly right. It wasn't long before I looked down and there you were, right in Papa's hands, wide awake and looking back up at me, quite unimpressed with what you saw I thought."

"Mama," Katie protested softly. "Mama you told me this story already."

Michaela paused, disheartened. "Don't you want to hear it again?"

Katie was quiet a long moment, trying to decide what her mother wanted her to reply. "I guess," she finally sighed.

"I'll just skip ahead to the good part," Michaela whispered. "We took you home and Papa held us and told me how happy he was, that ... that the day you were born was the happiest of his life." Michaela drew in her breath, fighting tears as she kissed her daughter's cheek. She remembered how close Katie and Sully had been before the accident, how much the two adored each other, how Sully would do anything for her. Michaela wished with all her heart things between them could be like before. With each passing day, she worried more and more perhaps the child would forever feel estranged from her father.

"Oh, Katie. He loves you so much," she whispered. "From the moment he first held you. Please ... please just-just tell him 'thank you' for the tree house. Oh, sweetheart. He just wants you to say 'thank you, Papa.' We can do that, can't we? He's trying so hard."

Abruptly, Katie reached her hand up and swiped away at a tear that had trickled stubbornly down her cheek. Even more hastily, she slid from her mother's lap, opened the trunk at the foot of the bed, and pulled out a small, folded piece of paper. Resolutely, she returned to the chair and thrust the paper at her mother. "Please can you get this to Cal?" she asked, voice slightly hoarse. "I don't know how to write on a letter where he lives and give it to Mr. Bing. I don't know how, Mama. Please you could help?"

Stunned, Michaela reached for the piece of paper. "May I read it?"

Katie nodded stiffly. "I don't know much words."

Michaela inhaled as she gazed at the short sentences Katie had so painstakingly scribed with her pen and inkwell, several words misspelled. "'Cal please go to my party there is cake. At two at my house and I miss you. Katie.'" Michaela looked up, throat gone dry. "You want him to come to your birthday party."

Katie pointed at the paper. "You can send it, Mama. Please? A stamp and ... and-"

"Oh, darling," Michaela murmured, taking her hand. "For one thing, by the time this reached him your party would be long over and done with."

"Oh," Katie murmured.

"And for another," Michaela went on. "We ... we can't send it, Katie. We can't write to him, sweetheart. I know it's hard to understand, but it's going to be easier this way, if we don't contact him if we can possibly help it. If we don't write him a letter or send him a telegram. Remember we talked about this?"

Katie nodded hesitantly.

"Do you know what though? I think this letter helped you." Michaela reached up and caressed her cheek. "I think it helps writing out these sort of feelings, about missing Cal and wanting him here for your birthday. I wrote pages of letters about the hurt I was feeling when your papa was missing. I think I still have them somewhere." She handed her the letter. "Why don't you stick this back in your trunk, and when you especially miss Cal, you can read this and it might make you feel a little better."

Katie ran her fingers down the paper, then took it, looking up hopefully. "All right." She remained still a moment longer as another tear escaped and trickled down alongside her nose.

"Oh," Michaela murmured, holding out her arms and drawing the child tight against her. "Shh. It's going to be all right." She took her cheeks in her hands, kissed her, and gave her one last tight hug. "All right, birthday girl. Are we going to see this tree house or not?" Michaela asked wryly.

"... Yeah," Katie said, grinning softly.

to be continued...


	59. Chapter 72

Chapter Seventy-two

Michaela tugged at a stubborn weed sprouting alongside the foxglove, pulling it from the soil by its roots. She sat back on her knees, straightened her shoulders and glanced out toward the yard at the children. All three were happily sprinkling feed in front of the chickens, giggling and talking with each other as they did the chore. So caught up were they that they didn't even notice Sully riding up the road until he had reached the yard and called out to them.

Byron immediately dropped the bag of feed and ran to his father, embracing him in a tight squeeze and commencing to chatter with him. Sully's absences were always only a brief pause in what seemed to be their endless conversation.

Michaela watched fondly as Sully greeted each child, asking each of them about their day, even Katie, who silently stood where she was and looked up at him.

Finally, Byron pointed decisively at the garden, and Sully turned swiftly to catch Michaela's eye. She gave him a small wave in reply as he handed his canteen and lunch sack to Brian and walked over to join her.

"Garden looks good," Sully said, strolling down one of the rows to join her.

"It needed the rain we've had," Michaela replied, looking up at him from beneath her sunhat.

He nodded, squatting to her level and reaching out to run his hand over the leaves of the foxglove.

"How was Preston's?" she went on.

He withdrew his hand and pulled on his gloves. "Preston's? It was all right. Michaela, about that-"

"I've been giving it a lot of thought," she said. "You taking the job with Preston that is."

He eyed her hesitantly. "What've ya been thinkin'?"

She rested her hands on her knees. "Just that, well, you're right. It's decent work and the pay is generous. And it's something you're very skilled at as well. We're both part of this family and there's no reason we can't pay our expenses together." She paused, searching his tentative expression. "I'm sorry. I suppose those years you weren't here I'd gotten used to getting us by on just my income. But we'll share things now, all right?" She reached across and took his hand. "We'll discuss buying things like boots and decide together if we can afford them."

"Yeah. Sure," he said quietly.

"... Is anything wrong?"

"No," Sully replied quickly. He had been prepared to tell her, had practiced telling her all the way home, but now after all she had just poured out to him he certainly couldn't ruin it now. At least the workweek was over. He had until Monday to tell her he wasn't going back to Preston's. "Just tired," he went on.

She rose to her knees and gave him a soft kiss. "That's understandable. You've been working quite hard."

He met her eyes for the first time, an amused grin suddenly forming across his lips.

Michaela returned the smile, then withdrew as his smirk widened and he gave a soft chuckle. "What?" She grasped his arm impatiently. "Sully, why are you laughing?"

He rested his hand on her knee. "'Cause you're lookin' a lot like ya did the first time I saw ya."

She raised her eyebrows questioningly. "What? In the mercantile?"

He chuckled louder. "In the mud, Michaela. Remember?" He pulled off one of his gloves and brushed away at a streak of dirt across her chin.

"Oh," she stammered, searching her petticoat pockets hurriedly for a handkerchief.

"I got it all. It's gone," Sully said, grasped her hands and stilling them. "And know what I think?"

She shook her head.

He pressed a gentle kiss to her chin. "I think nobody looks prettier with mud on their face than you."

"Sully," she protested half-heartedly.

He ran his thumb gently across the back of her hand. "The way ya just picked yourself up from that puddle and kept goin' ... I knew then there was somethin' special about ya."

She grinned shyly. "You impressed me, too. And that tomahawk of yours."

He smiled. "I forgot about that."

" ... Sometimes it seems like yesterday, doesn't it?"

"I s'pose," he replied quietly. "... It was real long time ago though."

" ... Yes," Michaela whispered, gently squeezing their hands.

& & &

Byron dug his hand into the small canvas bag at his feet and pulled out a clothespin, holding it high above his head. Michaela took it from him and pinned a damp stocking of Katie's to the line.

"And Miss Teresa said I'm good at painting," the little boy went on eagerly. "She said we all did good."

"When am I going to get to see these paintings?" Michaela asked, picking up another stocking from the laundry basket.

"Not 'til I'm done," he said firmly.

Michaela smiled as she took another clothespin from him. "You like school now, don't you, sweetheart?"

He beamed proudly. "Miss Teresa's nice. She teached me good." He glanced at the barn. "When's Papa gonna be done in there? I wanna tell him, too.

"Why didn't you tell him about it earlier today?" Michaela questioned. "He picked the three of you up from school, didn't he?"

Byron shook his head. "We had t' walk. It was long. I got tired."

Perplexed, Michaela paused in her work. "But Papa told me he was going to pick you up and stay with you this afternoon while I finished at the clinic."

Byron held up another clothespin. "Nope. He went to go feed the Indians."

"What?" Michaela uttered, reluctantly taking the clothespin. "Then if he wasn't here ... what were you doing all afternoon without him?"

"Playin' with Brian," he replied simply. "Mama, I think I can go, too. Can't I help, please? How come Papa won't let me? He won't even let Brian no more!" He tugged on her skirts. "Please?"

Michaela stooped to his level, unable to believe what she was hearing. After all that had happened with the soldiers, Sully apparently seemed bent on continuing to take the risk, and now behind her back again. "Byron, are you sure that's where he was? At the Reservation? Perhaps you're mistaken."

"He told me," the child said, pressing one finger to his chin. "Know what? I will be careful, Mama. I will go next time."

Michaela rose to her feet as Sully came out of the barn, brushing dust from the front of his shirt. "You know what we told you the first time you asked, Byron," she said softly. "No means no."

The little boy sighed, watching his father as he approached the clothesline. "... All right," he muttered sadly.

Sully's smile faded as he took in Michaela's disheartened expression. He glanced at a frowning Byron, immediately knowing the little boy had innocently blurted the truth, then reluctantly looked back at his wife.

Michaela held his gaze for a brief, painful moment. Then, without a word, she turned her attention back to the laundry basket, resuming her work with downcast eyes.

& & &

Katie crouched down to her knees and lifted the heavy lid of the trunk at the base of her mother's bed. She pulled out letters, photographs, and other memorabilia until she at last found what she was looking for. She stood up and climbed onto the bed, holding the framed photograph in her lap. She remembered the day vividly. She had been so excited about losing a tooth and had smiled wide and proud to show off the new gap in her mouth. The entire family had dressed in their finest. The photographer had arranged it so that Cal and Mama sat in chairs, Brian stood tall behind them, and she and Byron had stood in front of them.

She glanced at the doorway to be sure no one was around, then touched her finger gently to the image of Cal. "Guess what?" she whispered. "I got a tree house for my birthday. It has a ladder and it has a window and Mama made me yellow curtains." She paused, collecting her thoughts. "...I think he's tryin' real hard to be nice to me...but I miss you, Cal. When are you comin' back to see me?" She pursed her lips, quietly gazing at the photograph.

Brian emerged from the doorway where he had been silently listening.

Startled, Katie tried to cover the photograph with her hands.

"Ma's called ya twice for supper," he told her. "Didn't ya hear? Time to get washed."

She nodded quickly, sliding down from the bed.

He cleared his throat. "Katie?"

She looked up at him uneasily.

"I know ya miss Cal," he murmured, taking her hand. "But Pa is tryin' hard. He'd like it a lot if ya ... well, if ya tell him too how much ya love playin' in the new tree house."

She narrowed her brow, upset Brian had caught her looking at the photograph. "I don't have to," she whispered. "I don't have to tell him anything."

"Katie, Pa loves you," Brian said fervently. "Why can't ya see that? He's always loved ya. Why won't ya see?"

"Cal is my pa!" she shot back, clutching the picture frame to her chest.

At that moment, Sully came into the room. He fixed his eyes on Katie, chest tight and her words ringing in his ears. She looked back, breathing deeply.

"... What're you kids doin' in here?" Sully asked at last, voice unsteady. "Supper's gettin' cold and that ain't makin' your ma too happy."

"We're comin'," Brian said, wishing with all his heart Sully hadn't heard Katie, but knowing by his expression, he had.

Katie scurried to the trunk with the photograph, but before she could tuck it away, Sully caught up with her and grabbed the frame.

"What's this?" he whispered. He held it lightly in his hands, throat gone dry. The image of his wife and children with another husband and father, as if he had never existed, hit hard. The fact that Michaela had saved the photograph with all her other treasures from the past disturbed him deeply.

"Pa ... let's just go downstairs and eat," Brian spoke up. Katie darted to her brother's side and he put his arm around her comfortingly.

"What's going on in here?" Michaela asked, appearing in the doorway in her apron, hands on her hips. Brian glanced at her nervously.

"What's goin' on?" Sully echoed, looking up. He raised his arm and threw the picture frame to the ground, shattering the glass frame.

Katie let out a surprised yelp, cuddling against Brian.

"... Brian, Katie, go downstairs," Michaela instructed softly. "Wait at the table with your brother."

"Mama ... I'm sorry," Katie whimpered.

"Shh. Go downstairs, sweetheart," she told her, caressing her head.

Sully watched them leave, then squatted down and began picking up the glass.

Michaela stood motionless for a moment, shaken by the sight of the photograph. It was as if a piece of her life had been preserved in a picture frame, a piece Sully continued to be adamant about destroying.

"... Sully, be careful," Michaela murmured, coming to his side. "You'll cut yourself."

He dropped the pieces back to the floor, staring at them. "I'm sorry I scared Katie," he whispered.

"I didn't mean for you to see that," she explained, kneeling to his level. "I knew it would upset you."

"Why ya keepin' it then?" he challenged.

She sighed. "... Because it happened. Whether we keep the photograph or not, there's nothing anyone can do to make it go away. The harder you try, the farther apart we grow. Don't you want things to be better?" She bit her lip. "Or are you bent on keeping us apart?"

"Maybe-maybe some time apart wouldn't be a bad idea," he spoke.

"What do you mean?" she questioned.

"I quit my job at Preston's. I've been wantin' to quit for a while now."

"You quit your job?" she said, shocked. "Why? What happened?"

He sighed. "I just-I can't stand workin' for him. He...he can't keep his mouth shut more than a minute. He's been at me the whole time I've been there."

"Oh, Sully. What did he say?" When he didn't answer, she gently placed her hand on his shoulder. " ... But you were so pleased to have secured it. And you've been so pleased with the pay."

"I don't care about the money no more," he said. "I just can't work for him no more."

"Well, you can go back to Robert E.," Michaela said desperately. "I realize this has been frustrating for you but you enjoyed working for him."

"...I got an offer from a construction company. It's in Silver Cliff."

"Silver Cliff?" she blurted. "That's..."

"It's only about a day or so on horseback," he went on. "I could come back to visit every few weeks. I need a job more permanent than stockin' shelves or buildin' things from time to time. This is what I need. Maybe this is what we both need."

"I don't understand," she whispered, suddenly tearful. "You can't go. What about the children? The boys are so attached to you. Byron loves you so much. You're his world. All he wants to do is be with you, don't you see that? How am I going to explain you're only going to visit him every few weeks?"

He touched her back. "It might be good for all of us, havin' some time apart."

"We spent four years apart. How can any more time away from each other be good for us?" she asked. "We'll talk about the photograph. We'll get through this."

"This ain't just about the photograph, Michaela. I ain't fittin' in. I ain't fittin' in with the town and ... I ain't fittin' in with this family. I'm tryin' to do things I don't want to do-takin' a job at the Mercantile, workin' for Preston. And us ... I agreed to talk to the Reverend, thinkin' maybe you were right, maybe it would help, and then I couldn't even get that to go right." He stood up. "I can't change who I am. I know I'm hurtin' ya and I know I'm hurtin' our family ... but the Indians, they're my family, too. I don't know what else to do but keep helpin'."

"They're our family," she replied softly. "We can face this together. We'll find a way to work within the government-"

"The government," he muttered. "I've been over it a thousand times in my mind. If I thought there was hope the government could do somethin' I'd try it. But there ain't any other way. You saw what happened at Washita, Michaela. We saw what the government does for 'em." He sighed, pacing across the room. "The Indians, they're who I am," he went on. "I want ya to understand. I gotta help somehow, even if it means takin' some risks."

"Even if it means us?" she whispered bravely. She shook her head. "We have so much to talk about. Please ... please don't go."

"I need some time to think. I'm sorry, Michaela, but I have to do this. I'm takin' that job."

He walked slowly to the door and Michaela followed. "... Are you leaving us, Sully?" she whispered, grasping the bedpost.

He turned around. Her tear-filled eyes and quivering lip put a heavy lump in his throat he couldn't suppress. He stepped toward her, holding her briefly. "I'm doin' what I said, takin' a job in Silver Cliff. I'll be goin' tomorrow mornin', but I'll come back for a visit real soon. I promise, all right?"

She sniffled, nodding.

He swiped at her tears with his thumbs. "I know this came up all of a sudden. I'm sorry. But it's gonna be for the best. I've had to leave town for jobs before, you remember that." He nodded, as if convincing himself. "It's always worked out before, Michaela."

"Yes, I suppose ..." she whispered.

He lifted her chin and in reply gave her lips a gentle, tender kiss. Michaela felt as if he had already said goodbye.

& & &

Sully picked up a frowning Byron and held him close. "You be good while I'm gone," he instructed. "Mind your ma." He stepped down from the porch as Byron tightened his hold around his father's neck.

"Papa, when you comin' back?" the little boy asked dejectedly.

"Real soon. Real soon. It'll fly by, you'll see."

"But who's gonna play marbles with me?"

Sully glanced at Michaela, standing on the porch holding his satchel. "Mama will."

Byron leaned forward, cupping one hand around his mouth. "Mama don't know how," he whispered in Sully's ear. "I don't think she will be so good at it."

Sully kissed his cheek. "Ya'll have to help her out then, all right? You help her out."

Byron sighed. " ... I s'pose."

Brian descended the porch, Michaela following.

"You'll wire us, won't ya?" Brian spoke up.

"Soon as I get there."

Brian swallowed. "Pa ... ya don't gotta go."

He hesitated, glancing once more at his wife. Silently, he put Byron on his feet. "... I'll be back soon," he said. He nodded at Brian. "You help out your ma with Katie and Byron."

Brian stepped forward and took his little brother's hand, leading him back to the porch. "I will."

Sully gazed at his sons once more, then turned and walked across the yard to the fence, removing the reins from the post and lifting them over the horse's head. Michaela approached him, handing him the satchel. "Don't forget this."

He draped it over his shoulder. "Thanks."

"I packed you a lunch for the road," she added. "It's in there."

"That sounds good."

"You'll be careful, Sully," she said, taking his hand.

He squeezed her hand. "I'll be fine. I asked Robert E. to stop by the place every few days, make sure everything's all right."

"That's not necessary," she protested.

He shrugged. "It'll make me feel better."

She smiled faintly. "Yes, all right. Thank you."

"I should get goin'."

"Sully, wait for Katie before you go," Michaela said. The little girl had scurried off to her tree house earlier that morning while Michaela was helping Sully pack. Brian had gone after her and climbed up to sit with her, trying for nearly half an hour to coax her out, but to no avail. "She'll come down, Sully. I know she wants to say goodbye."

"No, she don't," he replied quickly. "She ain't comin' down until I'm gone. Michaela, it's getting late. I gotta get started." Awkwardly, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her.

Michaela held on tight, closing her eyes.

At last, he pulled away, briefly kissing her cheek. "G'bye."

She swallowed, fighting tears. "... Goodbye."

He mounted his horse, unable to meet her eyes, and backed up, turning toward the road.

Byron dashed after him. "Bye, Papa!"

Michaela caught him as he passed her, holding him against her. "Wave to Papa from here, Byron," she told him.

"Bye!" Byron called with all his strength. "Bye!"

Sully turned his head back, his heart aching. He waved briefly, and then gave his horse a firm squeeze with his thighs, urging him into a trot as they went around the bend and out of sight.

Katie peeked out from the doorway of her tree house, silently watching her father disappear down the road. She was convinced she was glad he was gone, that this was what she wanted. She swiped quickly at stubborn tears that had slipped down her cheeks, telling herself she hoped he never came back.

to be continued...


	60. Chapter 73

Chapter Seventy-three

Michaela tried to concentrate on reading the latest issue of the Gazette, but found her thoughts wandering to Sully, wondering what he was doing and if he was thinking of her, too. He had wired a few weeks ago to say he had arrived safely in Silver Cliff, but she hadn't heard anything from him since.

She sighed, glancing upstairs. She had just put Byron down for a nap, and now missed having him around. His constant chatter was a welcome distraction. He had been wheezing half the night, and she had stayed home from the clinic to make sure he had recovered. She decided when he awoke, as long as he was still feeling well, she would take him into town and open the clinic for the afternoon. Byron was sure to protest, not wanting to lose his mama's attention to her patients, but she couldn't stand being alone with her thoughts any longer.

She returned to the newspaper and turned a page aimlessly, resting her arms on the kitchen table. Again, she found herself thinking about Sully. She was frightened their efforts to repair the relationship had been in vain, that this was how things were going to be from now on, only seeing each other occasionally as if they were acquaintances rather than husband and wife. If only Sully weren't so stubborn and impatient. If only he would talk to her about the prison instead of shutting her out, they wouldn't be in such a hopeless situation. She was certain if they talked about it, they would be able to work through it and finally move on. He had always trusted her with his thoughts and feelings, but now he wanted nothing to do with that. It was as if they had lost something, but they could get it back, she knew they could, if he would only talk to her.

Michaela looked up as she heard a soft knock on the door. She folded the newspaper and rose from the table, taking a stiff breath to gain her composure, and opened the door.

On the porch stood an elderly, slightly hunched man, wearing faded trousers, a button down shirt and vest, and a well-worn cap. At his feet was a small pack with a tin cup tied to one of the straps. He removed his cap, revealing wispy white hair, and cleared his throat. "...You-you must be his wife," he murmured, gazing into her eyes in slight disbelief.

Michaela swallowed, vaguely uneasy. "I'm sorry. Do I know you?"

He blinked. "...Where are my manners?" He extended his hand. "Name's Elmer Jackson. This be the Sully residence?"

Michaela took his hand lightly, finding it cool and smooth. "Yes, it is. I'm Michaela Quinn. How may I help you?"

He smiled. "I, uh ... I knew Sully ... in the Yuma prison-out there in the New Mexico Territory? I would bring the boys books to read." He let out his breath. "Everybody there, they know me as Jack."

Michaela's eyes widened. "Jack?"

"Yes, ma'am," he affirmed. "Don't s'pose he's ever mentioned me-but I was just passin' through on my way to Denver, visitin' a cousin of mine ... an' thought I'd stop by, say hello-"

"No, he's mentioned you. He's mentioned you, Mr. Jackson," Michaela told him. She opened the door wider. "Please, come in. Sit down. I'm so glad you came by."

He removed his cap. "Please, call me Jack, too."

She led him to the kitchen and pulled out a chair for him. "I have a kettle warming on the stove. May I get you some tea?"

"Why, yes, ma'am. That sounds just fine."

She removed two cups from the cupboard and picked up the kettle with a towel. "I'm sorry, but Sully isn't home at the moment."

"Oh, that's a shame," he replied. "I'd really like to see him."

"I'm sure he'd like to see you as well," she said, pouring the tea into the cups. "Unfortunately, he's not even in town. He left earlier this month for a new job a day's ride from here." She put the cups on the table. "Do you take sugar or milk with your tea?"

"No, thanks. I like it just like this," he said, taking a sip. "A new job ya say? Why so far from home?"

She lowered her eyes. "He didn't have very good luck finding satisfying work here. He had to go."

He thought he detected a hint of disappointment and even hurt in her voice. "Well, I'm sure sorry to have missed him," he said softly, taking another sip of his tea.

Michaela sat next to him with her cup. She had so much she wanted to ask Jack but wasn't sure where to start.

"So you're Michaela," Jack spoke up, breaking the momentary silence.

Michaela blushed faintly. "Yes."

"You two have a baby girl, Katie I think, is that right?" he asked. "And the three older ones. He always talked about them. I hope they're still doin' well."

"They're all very well, thank you," she said. "Katie just turned six. And we have a little boy as well-Byron. But he was born when Sully was in prison. He's four now."

"Is that right?" he murmured.

She nodded. "Sully only just met him, but they're already very attached."

He chuckled. "Well, I'll be. Sully's got a son."

Michaela smiled, nodding at the staircase where a droopy-eyed Byron was peeking at the scene. "And I think that's him now. Excuse me." She rose from the table and ascended the stairs, picking him up. "I thought you were napping, Brynie," she said.

"I waked up," he whispered, holding her blouse with his fists as he eyed the stranger. "Please, no more nap?" he added.

"... All right, no more nap. Let's go into the kitchen. I want someone to meet you," she told him, walking back down the stairs.

Jack smiled as he met the boy's eyes for the first time. "Look at that," he remarked in amazement. "He's the spittin' image."

Michaela resumed her seat and settled Byron in her lap. "He certainly is," she whispered. "... Sweetheart, this is Jack. He was a good friend to Papa when Papa was in prison."

Byron grasped his mother's blouse tighter, burying his head beneath her neck.

"This is our son," Michaela went on, looking at Jack. "This is Byron."

Jack gently patted the child's back. "Well, it's good t' meet ya there."

"... He's shy," Michaela explained, stroking Byron's hair reassuringly.

"Oh, that's all right. So am I, Byron," he replied kindly. He reached into his pack, pulling out a small bag of taffy. "Well, what's this? I got this here candy with me," he said, "and I plum don't know what to do with it."

Byron's turned his head to face him, intrigued.

"Could ya help me out?" he asked, reaching into the bag and holding a piece of taffy out to the little boy. "Take some of it off my hands?"

Byron hesitated, then picked up the candy and stuck it in his mouth. He studied the man as he chewed, an unexpected trust in him forming. "... Thanks," he whispered.

Jack caressed his head. "Thank you, son."

"Mama?" Byron asked, looking up at her as he swallowed the candy. "I can go play now?"

She gave him a kiss on the brow and then helped him slide to the floor. "Yes, go on."

Jack watched him scamper into the sitting room, then turned his attention back to Michaela. "Well, ma'am, I thank ya for the tea. You'll tell Sully I said hello?"

Michaela grasped his arm. "Don't go now, Jack. I know Sully isn't here, but at least stay for the evening, meet my other children. And ... I'd like to get to know you a little better."

He scratched the whiskers at his chin. "No, I-I should probably be on my way."

"It's already growing dark. You certainly can't travel very fast at night. Stay with us. I know that's what Sully would want. You can get a fresh start tomorrow."

He drew in his breath. "I don't wanna impose."

Michaela smiled. "Don't be silly. I have a roast in the oven. There's plenty to go around. Please, join us for supper?"

He slowly returned the smile. "I s'pose I can't pass that up all too easy. All right, ma'am. If you insist."

Michaela patted his hand. "Wonderful."

& & &

"Looks like it might rain," Kirk remarked, holding three nails in his mouth and glancing at the sky. He pulled out one of the nails and positioned it in the corner of the shingle he was hammering.

"You say somethin'?" Sully asked, startled. He turned his head back to meet the young man's eyes. Kirk and he had gotten along well since they had first met at the beginning of the construction on a new boarding house. With three stories, the project had taken several days already, but they were moving along at a steady pace. Kirk was young and talkative with a heavy Texas drawl to his speech and Sully was a good listener. They had taken to eating their lunch together and they shared a tent at night with two other men.

Kirk eyed him worriedly. "Your head's in the clouds again, Sully. I says it looks like rain."

"Oh," Sully murmured. "It might." He wondered if it was raining in Colorado Springs and hoped it wasn't.

Kirk removed his cowboy hat and ran his fingers through his straggly auburn locks. "What were ya thinkin' about this time?" he asked curiously.

Sully shrugged, his mind still focused on Michaela. "... Home. My wife, I s'pose," he admitted. "The kids."

Aside from an occasional light conversation with Kirk, Sully spent most of his time in Silver Cliff working quietly by himself, giving him plenty of hours with his thoughts. He often replayed the several disagreements he had with Michaela since he had returned home, regretting every single one and coming up with a million things he should and should not have said. He also thought frequently about the first time he had found out about Michaela's marriage to Cal, the confusion he had experienced upon seeing the unfamiliar rings on her finger, that sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach as the truth became clear, the stinging betrayal and the utter shock that quickly followed. Those feelings were fresh, and contemplating putting it all behind them, forgiving it all and trusting that despite everything Michaela had always loved him, seemed too difficult to imagine.

"I got a girl myself," Kirk said proudly, putting his hat back on his head and swinging his hammer with vigor. "Met her right here in town at the church. I tell ya that?"

For the first time in several hours, a soft smile came to Sully's face. "Yeah, ya did. You're gettin' married."

"That's right. This summer. I'm building her a fine house just a mile from town with flower boxes, a porch and a picket fence just like she wants. She has me spinnin' all right, but not so bad it takes me ten minutes to hammer one shingle!" He chuckled, nodding at Sully's hammer.

Sully swallowed, realizing he had let the hammer rest in his hand once more. He tightened his hold and began pounding the nail again. He wondered if he should send another telegram to Michaela. She was probably wondering how he was doing. Then again, maybe she wasn't thinking about him. Maybe she was finding the time apart valuable. He tried to imagine what it would be like to join the construction company permanently, only to return home for a visit every month or so. Maybe he would get along better with her that way. He couldn't believe how miserable that idea sounded. He didn't think he could bear another look like the one of sheer devastation on Michaela's face when he first told her he was leaving for Silver Cliff. He imagined if he had known how much hurt his leaving would cause her, he might have never considered the job.

He stared at his hands, realizing his hammer was still once again. Angrily, he removed a nail from the tin can and hammered it into the shingle. Every ounce of him wanted to quit now and ride home as fast as he could, but he told himself he couldn't go back yet. He had to take advantage of the time apart to mull over his uncertain relationship with his wife. Still, there were times when all he could think about was how much he missed Michaela and the children, making it impossible to contemplate anything other than when they would be back in his arms.

& & &

"My pa says ya helped him escape, but not much more than that," Brian spoke up, cutting his meat. "How'd ya do it?"

"He never talked about it?" Jack questioned, taking a bite of carrots.

"Sully's been uncomfortable talking about anything that has to do with the prison," Michaela explained softly as she refilled Katie's glass of milk. "All we know was that somehow you helped him out."

He shrugged. "It weren't really much. I been working there for years, and got on good terms with some of the guards. One of 'em was sleepin' on the job and I just slipped his keys off his belt, took the one for the chains and then put the rest back."

"Ya musta been awful scared," Brian put in. "What if he woke up? That was real brave of ya."

He cleared his throat. "Sully was the brave one. Kept that key in his mouth and went to work outside. They were makin' additions to the prison and we got him in on the crew. A group of them had been plannin' to escape for ages. Somehow Sully got the key passed to all the men workin', and they got out of their chains and made a run for it."

"Look, Mama. He has a boo-boo like Papa does," Byron spoke up suddenly, pointing to the large, jagged scar cutting across Jack's left eyebrow.

"Byron, hush," Michaela scolded. "... I'm sorry, Jack. Please, go on."

He waved his hand. "Aw, no harm done."

"And they all made it out without gettin' caught?" Brian pressed.

"As far as I know," Jack said. "At first I didn't want to have much to do with the other prisoners escapin', and neither did Sully, but we both knew the best way to get out was to go in a group. It was his best chance. I was glad to help Sully out if I could. I knew the boy couldn't be what they said."

Michaela looked up. "How did you know?" she asked softly.

"That judge was lookin' for the closest match to the murderer, ma'am," he said. "He didn't care if he was guilty or not. Sully ain't Injun. He may look different, but his blood's white as the rest of us. And what would he be doin' all the way in New Mexico in the first place? Nothin' added up."

Brian nodded. "Pa couldn't of had anything to do with it. He was here in Colorado the whole time. Bounty hunters found him and dragged him to the judge in New Mexico."

"Sully said the judge was trying to advance his career," Michaela added. "Perhaps he wanted to prove he had control of crime in the territory."

"Rotten way to do it, ain't it?" Jack replied.

"Yeah. Wotten," Byron agreed.

"Shh," Michaela scolded, picking up Byron's napkin and wiping his mouth of a milk mustache. She stood up and held her hands out to Byron and Katie. "Let's get you two to bed."

"Bed alweady?" Byron questioned.

"But, Mama-" Katie began.

"But..." Michaela said gently. "To bed. Both of you."

"I'll help ya tuck 'em in, Ma," Brian offered, putting his napkin on the table. "Then I gotta get to the rest of my schoolwork." He stood up and placed his hand on the old man's shoulder. "I'm real glad ya came by, Jack. And ... thanks for helping out my pa. Maybe he'd still be in prison if it weren't for you."

Jack reached up and patted his hand. "You're a fine boy, son. Sully had a lot to come home to, that's for sure."

Michaela smiled. "I'll be back down in just a few minutes, Jack. Perhaps we can have coffee on the porch. It's a pleasant night."

"Oh, yes, ma'am. That sounds good."

& & &

Jack leaned forward in the porch chair, looking out toward the mountains. Michaela took a seat in the chair beside him and rested her cup on her knees.

"Ya sure got a real pretty view here," Jack remarked.

Michaela followed his gaze. "Sully picked this spot out for our homestead. I remember the first time he showed me it. It took my breath away."

"I-I tried t' get word to ya, ma'am," he blurted suddenly. "I tried."

Startled, she turned to face him. "... In prison? But I thought contact was forbidden."

He bent his head guiltily. "Boys could send word if they wanted to hard enough. They even let visitors in from time to time. It's just ... those guards didn't take kindly to nobody like Sully. They taunted him, looked for excuses to beat him, called him 'half-breed.' He wrote a letter to ya the first day he was locked up. He tried writin' to ya many a time."

"I never received anything," Michaela whispered.

"They tore all the letters to shreds," he explained. "Right in front of his eyes, too." He shifted to face her, gesturing at his brow. "This here scar I got, the one your boy noticed..."

"I'm sorry about that, Jack," Michaela said, embarrassed. "Byron speaks without thinking."

"No, I'm glad he said somethin'. I want ya to know ... I wanted to help Sully send ya a letter."

"Oh, Jack. You didn't have to do that," she protested.

"I had to. Sully was the best friend I had there," he replied. "Nobody's treated me as kind as he has. He didn't want me to risk it but I was sure I could do it. I ... I don't remember a lot ... just the letter being pulled outta my pocket, torn up, the butt of a rifle comin' at me-that's this here scar."

Michaela rested her hand on his arm. "Jack. I'm sorry. Oh, Jack. You shouldn't have done that."

He struggled to keep his composure. "I wanted to try again but I ... I was scared. Thought maybe they'd kill me if I was caught again. I'm sorry. Please, forgive me."

"Oh, there's nothing to forgive," Michaela asserted. "Sully didn't want you to risk your life and neither would I. When he came back ... at first I was upset he couldn't contact us ... but I've moved past that. I know it wasn't his fault and it certainly isn't yours."

He swallowed hard. "Thank you, ma'am. Thank you."

She sighed. "I just wish he was here to see you, too."

"Well, I'm sure he'd be here if he could," he reassured her, taking a drink of his coffee. "I know he wouldn't ever leave again if he could help it, the way that boy pined for home."

"He did?" she asked.

"Oh, terrible," he said. "I thought he might waste away of a broken heart. Took him weeks before he even started to eat." He wrapped his hands around the warm cup. "Took him even longer to speak," he added. "Even then, it weren't nothin' but about his woman and their baby girl back in Colorado." He smiled, his brown eyes warm and friendly. "Feel like I already know ya, ma'am."

Intrigued, Michaela leaned forward. "Jack? What was it like for him in the prison? Please, I want to know."

He hesitated. "Ma'am ... there's reasons I suspect he's kept quiet about it around ya."

"I don't understand," she said, frustrated. "Sully's always told me everything."

"He don't want to hurt ya," he said. "He loves ya with all he is."

She sat back in the chair. "Jack, I need to know. I just need to know. Please, tell me?"

He tipped his head back and finished off the last of his coffee. "... You sure about this? All-all of it?"

She nodded. "Yes. Please. Everything you can."

Jack paused a long moment. Finally he rested his chin on one hand, eyes unfocused. "...The coughin', it was so bad it chilled your very bones. There weren't ever a quiet moment there. Somebody was always fightin' to breathe. The first winter Sully was there, they carried out thirty men, right in front of our eyes. I s'pose they couldn't fight no more."

"An epidemic?" Michaela whispered.

"The God-damned consumption," he affirmed. "I've watched it take half the prisoners that pass through our gates."

"Sully was all right?" she asked. "Was he ever ill?"

"No ma'am, not that I know of," he replied. "Just sick at heart, that's all."

"Go on," Michaela encouraged.

He swallowed. "... The smell at this place could knock a body over. Especially in the dead of summer. That's when the rats would be at their worst, too."

Michaela cringed. "Rats?"

He nodded. "They say ya can't sleep too deep in the place or ya won't be able to kick the varmints off when they're gnawing at your ankles."

She closed her eyes, her stomach lurching. "They're an unbelievable transmitter of diseases."

"Oh, I've seen a few men go crazy with the rabies in my day. Guards had to shoot 'em like regular dogs."

"They were shot? You can't just shoot people, prisoners or not," Michaela protested.

"Well, I don't know," he replied softly, "I think these boys wanted to go. I'm sure I'd want to be put out of my misery."

"That's horrible. Wasn't there a doctor?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Town doc would stop by from time to time. But there were too many of 'em and too much sickness goin' around for him to be of much help. He surely tried his best though." He stroked his chin. "The food didn't help things any. Gave 'em some water in a bucket at the start of the day, some bread, stew with a little meat and some cheese. All of it the most awful slop ya've ever tasted. The bread was stale, the cheese had mold, the stew never had no salt..."

"He must have been constantly hungry," she murmured, inhaling shakily.

"I s'pose," he agreed. "Bet he was real glad to get back to his wife's cookin'."

Michaela broke the solemn atmosphere with a quiet chuckle. "I don't know if that's exactly what he was dreaming about, Jack. Cooking has never been a strength of mine."

He mirrored her smile. "Oh, no, ma'am. Supper tasted just fine. Best I had in awhile. And I'm sure Sully appreciates a full stomach."

She took a deep breath. "They made him wear chains, Jack," she spoke. "His wrists are terribly scarred from them."

"Yeah. He tried to escape a few times without plannin' it out. When they'd open the bars to give him dinner or a fresh bucket, he just knock down the guards and run. I told him that weren't the way to do it but the boy was a fool." He cupped one hand around his wrist. "After that happened once that's when they put him in chains and threw him in isolation for thirty days. Beat him up good for that, too."

"Thirty days," Michaela breathed, unable to imagine it.

He closed his eyes. "When I was younger, my first job there was to bring supper down to the boys in isolation. That was before I was in charge of the library. Ya ever been outside on a real dark night, one with no moon, and have your lamp go out on ya? Ya start to hear things that never got to ya before. Ya start to think maybe ya don't know how to get back without a light?"

She nodded slowly.

"That's I s'pose the best way I can explain the isolation pit," he went on. "Like bein' lost, not knowing where ya are, what time it is, if you're ever gonna get out. I know they were terrible to him down there. He came back at the end of the month eyes swollen shut, face all black and blue. And they broke his arm. Sully tell you that?"

Michaela gasped. "No, he didn't. How?"

"Well, I don't really know for sure. Figure it must have been from the beatings. Doc happened to be on rounds at the time and could come right away and take care of it. Bone came clear through. He needed stitches. I came down to hold him while Doc set it. Poor boy was delirious. I tried givin' him some whiskey but he couldn't swallow it very well."

Michaela stood up and walked to the edge of the porch, grasping the post and breathing deeply.

Jack watched her intently. "Ya all right, ma'am?"

She nodded slowly. "I-I just need some air."

He rested his hands on his knees, growing whimsical. "You know what Sully was sayin' while the doc was gettin' ready to put it back in place?"

"...No," she whispered, afraid to turn to face him.

"Why, he was callin' for you with all the strength he had," he said slowly. "Michaela ... Michaela."

Tears instantly spilled down her cheeks. She pressed her hand to her mouth, unable to keep her composure any longer. "...Sully," she whimpered. "Oh." She closed her eyes and leaned against the post. No wonder he hadn't wanted to speak of the prison. No wonder he insisted she not know any of the pain he had endured. She couldn't believe how adamant she had been about him talking about it. He had only wanted to shield her from the same pain, that was all. She should have respected that. What Sully had needed was love and understanding, not constant pressure to pour out details of a rat-infested, reeking, desolate jail cell.

Jack rose carefully from the chair and came to her side, awkwardly holding out a wrinkled handkerchief. "... Here, take it."

"I'm sorry," she murmured, dabbing at her eyes.

He held up his hand. "It's my fault. I shouldn't of told ya. It ain't nothin' a woman should ever hear."

"No, I'm glad you did, Jack," she said, taking his hand. "Thank you. Thank you so much. Everything makes so much more sense now."

He cleared his throat and clumsily laid his hand on her back. "Well, that's all right. I just want ya to know-these are things nobody wants to remember. These are things a body can't live with too well. S'pose ya can't hardly blame Sully for wantin' to keep it quiet."

She nodded. "Yes, I know." Her lip trembled and tears resumed. "I know now. Oh, Jack. I've been dreadful to him about this. I've been pushing him to talk about the prison. I kept telling him we won't be able to get back what we had until he talks about it. Sometimes I think that's why he left for work so far from here. Perhaps I've convinced him it's his fault that we're ... we're not doing very well."

"Oh, it'll be all right," he soothed. "It don't matter what happened at the prison. All that matters was you were always first in his mind, and four years couldn't change that."

"Jack, sometimes I'm frightened he's not coming back," she whispered, brow furrowed. "What if he doesn't come back?"

"You just hang on," Jack replied reassuringly. "You hang on there. He's gonna come back. I know he worked too hard to come home to ya to give it all up just like that."

"Oh, I hope so." She closed her eyes, trying to believe Jack's words. "But I'm just not sure of anything anymore," she admitted in a whisper.

& & &

Images of home once again consumed Sully's thoughts as he tried to concentrate on the final touches to the roof of the boarding house. Over the past several days, he had gotten the distinct feeling that his boss was not particularly fond of him. He criticized Sully's technique and constantly pushed him to move faster. Sully had never let anyone get to him and tried to ignore his boss's remarks, but the more he was badgered the more he wanted to be home with his family.

Still, the pay was good, and he was determined to stick it out for as long as he could. He continued to tell himself both he and Michaela needed the time to think. He couldn't go back just yet.

He placed his brush back in the bucket of cement beside him and reached for his canteen, screwing open the top and tipping his head back to swallow several gulps.

"Hey, Sully," Kirk called, walking carefully across the roof to him, canteen in hand. "I'm goin' down to get me some more water. It's sure hot today, ain't it? Want me to refill your canteen?"

Sully nodded, putting the top back on his canteen and handing it up to him. "Thanks, Kirk."

He put the strap over his shoulder. "Sure thing. I'll be right back."

Kirk carefully stepped across the roof of the boarding house to the extension ladder. With one hand holding the straps of the canteens and the other the rungs of the ladder, he began stepping down. A sudden creaking and splintering of wood startled him. He looked up at the ladder run clamps, eyes wide, as they gave way. Within seconds, the ladder began telescoping downward. His heart in his throat, Kirk jumped off, landing on the ground in a heap.

Hearing the commotion, Sully immediately stood up, abandoning his work. "Kirk!" he called. He ran as quickly as he could across the roof to the ladder, peering over the edge and searching for his friend. "Kirk! Hang on!"

Hurriedly, Sully made his way to the other side of the roof. He jumped down to the roof of the porch, then grabbed a post and climbed down to the ground. By the time he had circled around the building to Kirk, a handful of workers and a few townsfolk had gathered around the young man, shouting questions at him and helping him to sit up.

Sully pushed his way to the front, falling to his knees. "Kirk, are ya all right?"

The young man was clutching his right arm, cringing in pain. "I'm all right, Sully," he choked. "The clamps, they snapped. It was an old ladder."

"Somebody get a doctor!" Sully ordered, glancing at the men.

Kirk groaned involuntarily. "My shoulder's busted up pretty bad," he said.

Sully sighed, resting his hands on his knees as he glanced at the ladder. "The rope," he murmured. "I didn't tie the safety rope. Kirk, I forgot. I'm sorry."

"You didn't tie the rope?" one of the workers spoke up angrily. "Where's your head, man?"

"What's going on?" a gruff voice called. A large and perspiring man in a brown suit with a watch chain pushed the men aside as he made his way to Kirk.

"The ladder clamps broke, boss," a worker explained, removing his hat. "Kirk fell."

"Sully here forgot to tie the safety rope, Mr. Harper," another added.

Harper bent down and touched Kirk's arm. "You all right, son?"

Kirk nodded bravely. "I'm all right, boss. I can still work."

He shook his head. "Not for awhile. Looks like that shoulder's come clear out of the socket." He stood up, gesturing at a few of the men staring at the scene. "Stop standing there and bring him to Doc Bradford. You know where he is. Just down the street."

"Yes, sir," one replied immediately as they helped Kirk rise to his feet.

"It wasn't Sully's fault," Kirk said. "Please, boss. I shoulda checked to be sure the rope was tied. Anybody coulda forgotten."

"Be quiet, Kirk," Harper scolded. "Get yourself fixed up first."

"Yes, sir," he muttered as he carefully began hobbling down the street, several men at his side to help.

Harper watched him go, pulling a flask of whiskey from his breast pocket and downing several swigs. Sully stood by, arms folded, unspeaking.

"...He could have been killed, do you realize that?" Harper said suddenly, spinning around to meet Sully's eyes. "I pride myself on running this company with the utmost efficiency and safety. We don't make mistakes like this here. We don't have accidents like this here! Do you understand?"

Sully nodded. "Yes, sir. I'm sorry."

"Good God, Sully," Harper breathed, sweat breaking out at his hairline. "What's the matter with you?"

"... I don't know," Sully whispered, swallowing.

"You don't know," Harper echoed. "Well, I've lost a worker now, thanks to you. A damn good one, too. I hope you're happy."

"I'll do whatever I can to make it up to ya," he offered quietly.

"I have half a mind to send you home right now. I think we'd all be better for it." Harper took a step toward him, softening as he laid his hand on Sully's shoulder. "I know I push ya, Sully, and I know I expect a lot out of you, but that's because you're a first-rate worker. I'd even venture to say you're the best I've seen in a long time, years even. I know you're capable of a lot more than what you've shown me. I don't usually tell my boys this because we work as a team here. I don't want anybody getting it in their head that they're better than anybody else. But I really don't want to lose you, too. I need you, Sully, believe me I do." Harper shook his head, taking another swig of whiskey. "...So I'm gonna let you stay on."

"I appreciate it," Sully murmured, relieved.

Harper narrowed his brow, pointing his finger at Sully's chest. "One more mistake like that, one more, Sully, and you're gone. Understand? Gone."

He nodded.

"Good," Harper replied. "Now get your mind off whatever you've been thinking about and get it on your work. You men are to have this boarding house finished by next week as scheduled, Kirk or no Kirk."

"We'll get it done on time," Sully promised.

Harper stroked his chin. "After that, you go on home and visit your family. I give all my workers a few days off after every job's complete. I expect you all to use it."

Sully nodded noncommittally. "I best get back to work now. We should try to finish the roof before dark."

Harper took one final swig from the flask. "Right. Good. You keep your mind on it and it will be."

to be continued...


	61. Chapter 74

Chapter Seventy-four

The sound of an axe cutting across the morning air startled Sully's horse as he trotted up to a modest but beautiful one-story homestead on the outskirts of town. He clicked his tongue and patted his horse's shoulder reassuringly, walking her up to the fence and dismounting.

Kirk raised his axe, split another log, and then turned around. "Sully? That you?" he called.

Sully tied the reins to a post and walked up to him, removing his gloves. "Kirk. How's your shoulder?"

Kirk glanced at his arm, held in place by a splint and a tight sling. "Doin' better. I'll be back to work in no time." He raised his left arm and brought the axe down on another piece of wood. The wood splintered slightly, then fell on its side, rolling off the chopping stump. "Damn it," he muttered.

Sully squatted and picked up the wood, positioning it back on the stump. "Let me help ya. Must be pretty hard splittin' wood with just one good arm."

Kirk shrugged stubbornly. "I've done enough for now. Time for a break."

Sully glanced at the pile of split wood beside him, nodding in agreement. He picked up the canteen beside him, opened the lid, and handed it to Kirk. "Here. Have a drink."

Grudgingly, Kirk rested the axe on the stump and took the canteen from him. "Thanks."

Sully reached into his inside coat pocket, pulling out an envelope. "We finished the boarding house yesterday."

"I saw," Kirk replied. "Another fine job."

"Gave us our pay this morning," Sully added, handing him the envelope. "I offered to bring yours by."

"Why, thanks, Sully. Ya didn't have to do that."

"I want ya to have my wages for the last week ya missed," Sully added, nodding at the envelope. "They're in there."

Kirk looked up, surprised. "I can't take that. That's your hard earned money."

"No, it's my fault ya couldn't work," he replied firmly. "It's the least I can do. Can't tell ya how sorry I am about what happened."

"It was just an accident," Kirk told him. "It's nothin' I won't recover from. Like I said, I'll be back to work in no time."

"It was my mistake," Sully insisted. "I know with those kind of ladders ya gotta tie the safety rope. I know that. But I let myself get distracted."

"If you're thinkin' about your family so much ... why don't ya take a job closer to home?" Kirk asked tentatively. "I don't know how I'd work any farther away than right here in town where my girl is. Not that you ain't wanted with us, Sully. I mean, I was glad to work beside ya. But ya never seemed happy. Ya never seemed satisfied."

Sully paced a few steps away, gazing toward town pensively. "Truth is, until a few months ago, I was apart from my family for a long time. It was all real complicated, but I couldn't see my wife for four years. I couldn't so much as write her a letter."

Kirk stroked his chin. "Four years? I'm sorry, Sully. Musta been real hard."

"Yeah," he sighed. "...Since I've been home ... things have been hard for my wife and me and our kids. I s'pose-I s'pose that's what I've been thinkin' about. Can't really help it."

"That's too bad, but ... how's bein' all the way out here gonna do any good?" Kirk ventured softly.

Sully couldn't reply. He kept his eyes focused on town, arms crossed.

"You're goin' back home for a few days, ain't ya?" Kirk pressed. "The boss gives everybody a few days off between projects."

"I ain't sure yet," Sully admitted.

Kirk walked toward him, resting his hand on his shoulder. "Go home, Sully. It ain't gonna help anythin' mopin' around here, you know that."

Sully turned to face him, eyes filled with uncertainty. "What do I say to her?"

"Well ... I s'pose I would start with a hello," Kirk suggested, smiling softly.

He drew in his breath. Kirk was right. Being farther apart wasn't going to make anything any better. He would go back and straighten things out. Somehow, he would make it work. He wanted it to hard enough, that was for sure. "You're right, I outta go home. I'm goin' home ... Where I should be." He extended his hand and shook with Kirk. "Thanks. Thanks for everythin'. Ya've been a good friend."

"So have you, Sully. Now get yourself out of here or ya won't be back in Colorado Springs before dark," Kirk replied firmly.

& & &

"I'm sorry, Miss Grace," Dora Mae said as Michaela carefully bandaged the woman's finger. "I'm always so careful."

Grace stepped up to the examination table where her timid worker sat and put her arm around her. "I know you are, Dora Mae. Don't you think anythin' of it."

"I know I've done the same thing chopping vegetables for supper," Michaela spoke up helpfully as she tied off the bandage. "You don't even need stitches. You can probably go back to work as long as you feel up to it."

Dora Mae nodded gratefully. "Thanks, Dr. Mike."

Grace gave her a hand down from the table. "You go on home and take the rest of the afternoon off," she instructed.

"But what about the stew-" she protested.

"I'll finish the stew," Grace said.

"Oh, thank you, Miss Grace." Dora Mae slid her apron off and laid it over her arm. "Dr. Mike, my boys have built themselves a chicken coop in our yard. Could I bring you over some eggs tomorrow?"

"That sounds wonderful," Michaela replied as she walked over to the basin and picked up a bar of soap to wash her hands. "I look forward to it."

Grace handed Dora Mae her shawl and opened the clinic door to see her out. Just as Dora Mae stepped into the street Katie skipped up onto the porch and sped past Grace into the clinic.

"Mama!" Katie called.

Michaela turned with a smile and held out her arms. "Back from school already?" she asked, lifting Katie off her feet and giving her a hug.

"Miz Teresa let us out early. At recess I found an ant hill and we fed 'em some of our bread from lunch."

Michaela chuckled. "And did you manage to learn anything inside the schoolhouse?"

Katie giggled as her mother put her back on her feet. "Maybe a little bit."

"Maybe a little bit, hm?" Michaela replied wryly. "Well, let me finish up here, and go say hello to Miss Grace."

"Miss Grace!" Katie ran to her godmother and gave her a tight hug.

"How are you today, pumpkin?" Grace asked, stooping to kiss Katie's head as Brian came in, schoolbooks slung over his shoulder.

"Hey, Miz Grace. Hey, Ma," he said cheerily, walking across the room to the basin where Michaela stood. "Ma, did any word come from-?"

Michaela closed her eyes. "No, not today. I'm sorry."

He sighed, setting his books on her desk. "Could we send Pa another telegram? Maybe he's just real busy workin'. Yeah."

"I suppose I'll think about it," she replied as she poured carbolic acid into a clean basin to disinfect her instruments.

"Where's Byron, Mama?" Katie spoke up. "I wanna tell him about the ants."

Michaela cleared her throat. "Upstairs napping. Why don't you two go wake him?"

"How's his cough, Ma?" Brian asked. "Better?"

"Much better," she replied reassuringly. "I don't see why he can't go back to school tomorrow."

Brian held out his hand to his little sister. "Come on, Kate. Let's get him. We can take him over to see the ant hill."

Grace watched the children clamor eagerly up the stairs, then turned to Michaela and stepped towards her. "Thanks for helpin' out Dora Mae," she said.

Michaela nodded in reply, removing her bandage scissors from the basin and drying them with a towel.

"Brian really misses Sully," Grace said hesitantly.

"Yes. We all do," she admitted.

"Well, he must be comin' home soon," Grace said encouragingly.

"I'm honestly not certain, Grace," Michaela whispered. "But there's so much I want to tell him, so much I need for him to know ..."

Grace smiled softly and gently patted Michaela arm. "He'll come back soon and you can tell him all that you want to. Everythin's gonna be fine."

She swallowed hard, trying to remain composed.

Grace gave her a tentative hug. "You take care, Dr. Mike. I should get back to the café."

Michaela lifted her head as someone knocked briskly on the door. "That's probably my next patient. We'll stop by the café for supper tonight, Grace. I think we could all use some of your cooking."

Grace grinned as she followed her to the door. "Sure, Dr. Mike. See you then."

"Tommy?" Michaela said as she opened the door to a schoolmate of Brian's.

"Telegram for ya, Dr. Mike," he said, holding it out and smoothing a stray lock of curly brown hair behind his ears. The young man had been helping Horace after school at the telegraph office for several months, and he was always up to making a delivery to the clinic. Dr. Mike gave him generous tips for his services, and sometimes Brian was there, giving Tommy an excuse to linger for a few minutes to chat with him.

Grace paused in her steps, turning back to Michaela. "From Sully?" she asked.

Michaela swallowed, her face gone pale, her hands trembling as she read the words several times.

Grace stepped closer to her, reaching out to touch her arm. "Dr. Mike, what is it? What's wrong? Is it Sully?"

"No, it's ..." she choked. She straightened, reaching into her apron pocket and pulling out a coin. "Thank you, Tommy."

The young man tipped his cap and stepped down from the porch. "Thanks, Dr. Mike. Hope everythin's all right."

"Grace, I have to go back to the homestead right away," Michaela said, walking back inside and putting on her jacket. "Please, could you watch my children while I'm there? I know you're busy with the café-perhaps I could ask Dorothy or someone-"

Grace started. "Dr. Mike, what's wrong?"

"I have to go home and pack," she said quickly. "The next train for Denver leaves at five o'clock and I need to be on it. From there I can buy a ticket to Chicago."

"Chicago?" Grace blurted. "... Ain't that where ... where Cal was from?"

Michaela paused briefly, drawing in her breath. "Yes," she whispered. Without hesitating further, she hurried onto the porch and untied the buggy from the hitching post. "I'm sorry about this. I know I'm asking a great deal but do you think you could look after my children while I'm gone?"

"... Sure, of course, Dr. Mike, but, Chicago?" Grace questioned. "What's wrong-"

"Grace, I need you to trust me. I have to do this. I don't have time to explain right now but I'll wire you as soon as I know."

"Mama, we're goin' over to see the ant hill!" Katie said, stepping out onto the porch, her little brother behind her. "Brian's lookin' for your mag-nifing glass to see 'em better."

Michaela looped the reins back over the hitching post and walked to her children, stooping to her knees. "That'll be nice," she said, forcing a soft smile.

"You wanna come, too, Mama?" Byron spoke up sweetly, reaching out to take her hand.

"Oh, that sounds like fun, but I can't, sweetheart. I need to talk to you two about something. Come here."

Katie stepped closer, sensing something awry in her mother's tone. "What?" she pressed.

"Well, it's about a trip I'm taking," Michaela began shakily. "Mama has to go on a train ride to Chicago."

Byron instantly grew tearful. "Sha-go! But, Mama-"

Michaela drew them into her arms, hugging them tight. "Shh. I know. I'm sorry. I need you to be brave about this. Think we can do that?"

Byron shook his head, hugging her neck.

"Why you wanna leave us?" Katie asked.

"No. No, sweetheart. I don't want to leave you. I want to stay here. It's just I need to go on a little trip."

"We'll come with ya!" Katie replied.

"Oh, I know." Michaela kissed her cheek. "I know you want to, but I want you to stay here with Miss Grace, all right? She's been so kind to look after you so you'll be good for her, won't you? Oh, I'm sorry I can't take you, sweethearts. I'll wire you as soon as I get there. I promise I'll wire you."

"No, Mama," the little girl protested. "Don't go away. Ya can't!"

"Stay with me," Byron begged tearfully, clutching her blouse.

"Oh, my darlings. It'll be all right. Everything's going to be fine," she said reassuringly, stroking back their hair. "You'll have a wonderful time with Miss Grace and then you can tell me all about it, hm? I have to go or I'll miss my train." She kissed each of their heads. "I have to go now, all right? I love you both. I love you both so much ..."

& & &

The five o'clock train was just beginning to pull out as Sully crossed the tracks in front of it and walked his horse into town. He couldn't wait to see his family again. He couldn't wait to have Michaela safely back in his arms. He planned to take her to supper in the café. He would tell her what a fool he had been, that he never should have left for Silver Cliff, that he would never abandon her and the children like that again. Sully felt confident about starting over. He would do things right this time. He was going to make it work this time, no matter what it took. He wasn't going to give up again, and he wanted Michaela to know that. She was all that filled his thoughts and all that he ever wanted. He loved her with all his heart and it was about time he started acting like it.

He dismounted his horse in front of the clinic, surprised the closed sign hung on the clinic door and the buggy wasn't parked out front. Maybe Michaela had gone on some house calls. Disappointed, he knocked on the door anyway.

Within seconds, the door swung open, revealing a clearly dejected Byron. The little boy immediately brightened, running into Sully's arms.

"Papa!" he squealed. "You home!"

Sully lifted him off his feet, holding him tight. "I'm home," he whispered lovingly.

Brian hurried outside, equally surprised to see his father. "Pa!'

Sully dropped his knapsack on the bench beside him and put his arm around his older son. "Brian. I missed ya. All of ya."

"We missed you, too," Brian murmured.

Sully squeezed his shoulder. "Where's your ma?"

Brian immediately quieted, staring at his feet.

Sully narrowed his brow. "Is somethin' wrong? What?"

"She went to Sha-go," Byron said simply, putting a finger in his mouth. "I want Mama t' come back now."

Sully glanced around the front room of the clinic, confused, as Grace came out of the clinic with Katie trailing behind her.

"Grace, what're ya doin' here?" he asked, voice suddenly filled with worry. "Where's Michaela?" he demanded more forcefully.

"A telegram came, Sully," Grace explained quietly. "She had to leave right away."

"Leave where? Boston? Somethin' wrong with her ma?" He placed Byron back on his feet and grasped the doorframe.

"No Boston. Sha-go, Papa," Byron said again, tugging on the ends of his father's jacket. "It's way far away."

"Chicago," Brian whispered. "She just left on the afternoon train. Didn't even have time to tell me she was goin'."

Sully shook his head. "I don't understand. Why? What's in Chicago?"

Grace swallowed, putting her arm around Katie. "She left before she could explain, Sully. Except that ... that-"

"It's where Cal lived, Pa," Brian spoke up bravely.

Sully felt his heart sink. He had waited too long. Just when he was sure what he wanted he was too late. He turned away, stunned.

"Pa, go after her," Brian encouraged. "Find out what's goin' on. Ya can't just let her leave! Ya gotta tell her to come back!"

Sully swallowed, turning back. "I'm sure it's somethin' important, Brian."

"More important than bein' here with us, with our family?" Brian demanded. "Please, ya gotta bring her home, tell her how much we want her here with us."

"Look, let's get back to the homestead for now. You kids had supper yet?"

"No, not yet," Brian admitted quietly.

"We'll get ya somethin' to eat," Sully said, voice unsteady as he shifted Byron to his hip. He held his hand out to Katie. "Come on, Kates. Let's go home and let Grace get back to her café."

Katie solemnly stepped toward Brian, eyes unfocused, but refused to venture any closer to Sully.

Sully held his hand out for a moment longer, then with a sigh let his arm drop back to his side. "Ya want some soup to eat, Byron?" he asked, caressing his head. "How's that sound?"

"I s'pose," the little boy muttered, resting his head against his father's shoulder and absently fingering the Indian beads around his neck.

Sully glanced back at Grace. " ... Thanks."

Grace nodded, softly patting his hand. "Anythin' ya need, Sully, I'm glad to help."

& & &

"Byron!" Sully called, holding the child's stuffed bear in one hand as he walked down the hall. He spotted the master bedroom door a crack open and walked over to it, slowly entering the room. "Byron? Ya in here?"

The little boy was curled up beneath the bed covers, hands tucked under his cheek. "... Yeah. Over here." he whispered.

"What're ya doin'?" Sully asked, kneeling beside him. "Thought ya said you were goin' to the outhouse before bed."

"I wanna seep in Mama's room," he explained.

"... But what about your bear?" Sully asked, laying the stuffed animal beside him. "Ya left him on your pillow. He was awful lonely in your room all by himself."

Byron cuddled the toy against his chest. "Ya think? I'm watchin' him for Katie. Don't want him lonely."

Sully held out his arms. "Come on. Let's get you two back to your own bed. We don't even have a fire goin' in here. Ya'll be cold."

Byron sat up and let his father lift him from the blankets. "Sha-go's far, far away," he remarked.

Sully rested his chin on the little boy's head. "Naw, it ain't that far."

"Yes it is," he insisted, closing his eyes and frowning. "When's Mama comin' back to me? She's leavin' us ... forever?"

Sully drew in his breath. The same thought had briefly crossed his mind. Of course Michaela would never abandon her children, but what if this was her way of telling Sully she wouldn't wait any longer while he lingered in Silver Cliff? After all, he had left her behind first, taking work so far from home. What if she really did believe he wasn't coming back, despite his promises to the contrary? Maybe she had gone to Chicago to tell Cal she had made a mistake, that she was giving up on Sully and coming back to him.

No, she would never take off, Sully thought, without at least coming to him and telling him it was over. Not the Michaela he knew. Or used to know, at least. Four years had changed them both, he had come to realize and even begun to accept that.

Then again, maybe he was making too much of it all. Maybe the telegram had nothing to do with Cal. Maybe it was about a patient, or a doctor. But why would Michaela get on the very next train for Chicago without any explanation? Still, he certainly couldn't upset his son with his worries and doubts. Right now, he needed his father's reassurance.

"Don't think that, Byron," Sully told him decisively. "Your ma would never leave us, understand?" He walked into his room and placed the little boy on his bed. "She loves ya, you know that. She'd never just leave," he went on, tucking him under the covers. "Mama'll be sendin' word real soon. Go to sleep now, all right?"

"I can't. Can you tell me a story?" Byron asked, grasping his father's beads and running his fingers along them.

"It's gettin' late," Sully replied weakly.

"You can tell me my story real quick," the little boy encouraged.

Sully inhaled. Once again, he was reminded of all he had missed. "I don't know that one, son. Papa don't know that one."

He raised his eyebrows, perplexed. "Ya don't? But that's the best story there is! Please try tellin' it? Please? Just try, Papa."

Sully chuckled softly, touching his cheek. "Well, I ... I s'pose I could give it a try. If that's what ya really want."

"Try," Byron encouraged.

Sully scratched his whiskers, thinking a moment. Finally, he began. "The day you were born for me, Byron, was a little different."

"Why's it different?" he cut in.

Sully tapped his nose. "Shh. I'll tell ya."

Byron nodded eagerly, closing his mouth.

"It was a winter mornin', but pretty warm, and I was in the woods and waitin' to visit with your ma. Next thing I know I see she's got somebody else sittin' with her, somebody I don't know ... but somebody I'd wanted to meet for a long time."

"Who?" Byron asked, unable to resist interrupting.

Sully stroked back his hair. "It was you, Byron. You were my son, and you were more perfect than I ever imagined ya might be. I thought ya looked just like your ma at first, but then I started to see a little of me, too, and it made me so proud."

"And I had ten toes?" Byron put in. "And lotsa hair?"

"Yep, ya sure did. I was real happy to meet ya and hold ya. And now whenever I see ya I wanna hug ya real tight 'cause I love ya so much. I'm so glad you're here, that I'm a papa again, that sometimes... I can't hardly believe it." Sully held back his emotions while Byron watched him expectantly. " ... The end?" he finally added with a small chuckle.

Byron squinted his eyes. "The end," he repeated. "Good job, Papa. That was a good story."

"Yeah, I think so, too. Ya think you and your bear can sleep now?"

"We will try," he replied.

"Good," Sully said, kissing him lovingly. "I'll see ya in the mornin', all right?"

"All right. 'Night," Byron replied sweetly, curling on his side as Sully tucked the covers snug up to his chin.

Sully watched him fondly for a long moment, making sure he was asleep and breathing deeply, before he carefully rose from his bed, tiptoed out of the room and back to the master bedroom. Silently he straightened the pillows where Byron had rested his head and pulled the sheets and bedspread over them, carefully smoothing the wrinkles.

Once he was satisfied the bedcovers were back in order, he stepped away, taking in his surroundings. The bedroom remained relatively unchanged since he had last seen it. He tentatively rested his hand on the carved bedpost, clenching his teeth. He loved Michaela, missed her terribly and was devastated to find out she had left for Chicago, but he couldn't find it in himself to completely absolve everything that had happened while he had been missing. He wanted to forgive her for marrying again, for sharing their home, their children, everything, with another man, but he couldn't do it. It was simply easier not to think about it, to tuck it aside and focus on the present. He gazed at the bedspread. It was all too fresh to forgive.

Soft moonlight poured through the windows, illuminating the vanity. Sully blinked, staring at it. Gone was the photograph of their wedding day, now almost seven years ago, and gone was the photograph of Katie's christening. He glanced to the right of the vanity. Katie's crib had vanished as well, replaced by a small table with a lamp. Though at first the room appeared no different then before, now it seemed foreign, bare, and eerie. Sully felt as if all traces of his existence had disappeared.

He circled the bed and bent to his knees, absently opening the trunk at the foot of the bed. Instantly, a smile came to his face as he pulled out a pair of tiny baby booties. He thought back hard. They were yellow with miniature yellow laces, and he couldn't remember Katie having a similar pair. They had to have been Byron's. He smiled wider, pressing his thumb into the soft knit material. He closed his eyes, and could almost picture the little boy as an infant, curled in his mother's arms, sweet eyes looking up at her trustingly, tiny legs kicking. He drew in his breath. He had missed it. He had missed it all.

Tears threatening, he placed the booties aside and sifted farther into the trunk, uncovering several photographs of the children, an old letter here and there, playbills, dried flowers and other mementos. He took his time with each item, gazing at it, turning it back and forth as the memories swiftly flowed back.

At last, he came to the base of the trunk. He bit his lip, pulling out three folded black mourning dresses, two with waistlines let out generously to accommodate a growing belly, all worn thin.

"Michaela," he uttered softly, fingering the bodice of one of the dresses. She had mourned him. She must have been in mourning for at least a year, as was customary. The thought of his wife moping around town in such a depressing costume, while he was in actuality alive and safe, sickened him. The fact that he had abandoned her newly pregnant on top of it all made him feel worse.

He had been too impatient, Sully realized now, too unwilling to compromise, too cold with her. He had lost himself in spending time with the children and in the process neglected her. He had been a coward, hesitant to even talk to her or let the reverend help them. He couldn't blame Michaela for giving up and going back to someone who would treat her better.

Sully put the dresses in a pile and was about to place them back in the trunk along with everything else, when something caught his eye. He reached in and pulled out a thick stack of loose leaf, yellowed paper, loosely held together by a piece of twine. Intrigued, he unlaced the twine and picked up the first sheet. It was Michaela's handwriting...

"Dear Katie and Byron," it read. "I am writing this mainly because I hope it will help me begin to put back together the shattered pieces of my life since last summer, but I am also writing for you. Someday when you're older, I'll read this to you, so that the memory of the most wonderful man I've ever known might be passed down to his children..."

& & &

Sully barely heard the knocking on the front door, hours later. He rose to his feet, rubbing his stiff neck and shoulders, cramped from sitting on the floor hunched over Michaela's letters. He made his way down the stairs to the front door, pleased at who he saw.

"Dorothy," he murmured, eyes watering from the sudden light from her lamp flowing through the open door.

Dorothy immediately stepped forward and gave him a warm hug. "Sully. I'm sorry I came by so late but I just heard. How you doin'?"

He cleared his throat. "I'm all right ... come in."

"How are the children? Are they in bed?" she asked, entering and removing her cape.

"Yeah, they're asleep," Sully told her, taking her cape and laying it over a chair at the dining room table. "They were upset ... but Michaela would never leave 'em like that. They know that deep down."

"I'm sure she'll send a wire real soon," Dorothy replied. "There has to be a perfectly good explanation for takin' off like that." She placed a small picnic basket on the table. "Grace made you a casserole."

Sully opened the lid, nodding. "Thanks. She didn't have to. Ya've both been real kind."

Dorothy rested her hand on his shoulder. "Sully, how are you?" she asked again, slowly.

He sunk into a dining room table chair, staring at his hands guiltily. "I ... Dorothy ... is it true?"

"Is what true?" she asked.

He drew in his breath. "About Michaela. Is it true she-when I was first missin' ... she didn't wanna go on? Wanted to even ... kill herself?"

Dorothy drew in her breath. "Sully, who told you that?"

"I was lookin' through some of our things in the trunk," he began. "Michaela kept 'em all. Photographs, letters ... "

"Did you see photographs of the children?" Dorothy asked. "Sometimes lookin' at a photograph is almost like you're there."

He nodded. "Yeah ... but there's somethin' more I found, somethin' of Michaela's. A stack of old papers, tucked away. She filled pages and pages ... about her life here."

Dorothy thought back. "Oh, my. She kept it. He-Cal asked her to, a long time ago when they first met. He thought it'd be good for her. Told her to write about you. You and her."

"I been readin' it all evenin'. Got through all our times together, meetin' each other, fallin' in love, marryin' and havin' Katie ... then I got t' the accident."

Dorothy nodded encouragingly. "I don't think Michaela ever showed what she wrote to anyone, but I remember her mentioning it once, tellin' me how much it was helpin' her come to terms with it all. I think it did do her a lot of good, puttin' her thoughts on paper."

"Then it's true?" he pressed apprehensively. "She didn't wanna live?"

Dorothy bit her lip. "She wrote about that?"

He nodded. "Wrote she was thinkin' about it a good six months, 'til..."

"Until what?" Dorothy pressed.

Sully looked away. "'Til Cal come along. Said he helped her get through it. Is that when they started to court?"

Dorothy sighed. "Do you know Cal had no intention of ever bein' anything but Michaela's friend?"

He shrugged. "Don't know anythin' about it. I don't think I wanna know."

"Well, you oughta know this," she replied briskly. "Cal decided he wasn't gonna quit on Michaela until she decided she wanted to live again. He made her wanna go on when the rest of us didn't know what else we could do for her. I don't think Michaela would even be here if somebody like him hadn't stepped in."

Sully clenched one hand in a fist, resting it on the table. "He just did that outta the goodness of his heart? He wanted nothin' in return?"

"He wanted Michaela happy, that's what he wanted," Dorothy replied firmly. "...Just like you want, Sully," she added softly. "Those two were nothin' but friends for nearly three years before they even considered courtin', let alone marriage. I believe that's a lot longer than you and Michaela waited, and the both of ya had lost somebody special then." She took his hand across the table. "... Do you realize how much that woman loves you? Did she write that?"

Sully hesitated. "Well, she ... she did, a little."

"Good, because it's the truth," Dorothy told him calmly. "Sully, when you were first missin', Michaela was about as miserable as a body can be. I didn't know what to do. I was watchin' my best friend waste away right in front of my eyes. Her heart and soul belonged to you, and losin' you was like losin' the air she breathes. Do you know how close she came to givin' up? That little girl of yours, and those boys, they're who got her through. And it was Cal who helped her see that when no one else could."

"Didn't know it was that bad," Sully admitted quietly.

"As much as it's been bad for you ... and for Cal, Michaela is the one who's been through-through hell and back," Dorothy told him. "I watched her go through it, Sully. We all watched our friend go through it. I remember, the first Christmas you were gone ... it couldn't of gotten much worse for her ..."

&"This year the reverend thought we should have a special holiday choir for the Christmas Eve service." Dorothy sat on the edge as she cradled a tiny Byron in her arms, awake and blinking inquisitively. "Anybody can join, even the children," she went on. "Provided you can carry a tune! They're going to rehearse Tuesday nights and Sundays after church. I'll feel a lot better hearin' the choir than singin' in it-I can't imagine goin' up on stage like that-but I've been advertisin' it in the Gazette."

"That's nice," Michaela murmured indifferently, eyes unfocused.

"Michaela, you oughta join," Dorothy suggested. "You'd enjoy it. I can look after Katie and the baby while you're at rehearsals. They need more sopranos as it is."

Michaela solemnly shook her head.

"I know it's only been a few weeks since the baby came, but you don't seem ill to me," Dorothy remarked. "You need to try to get back on your feet. You can't stay in bed forever."

"Why can't I?" Michaela retorted.

Dorothy stared, not knowing how to reply. Suddenly, Byron gave a whimper, followed by a demanding squall, though Michaela made no movement to show she had heard. Dorothy felt his diaper, finding it dry. "Oh, he must be hungry again," she said helplessly. She put him over her shoulder, rubbing his back to no avail.

Michaela stared blankly forward, remaining oblivious to her baby's cries.

Worriedly, Dorothy grasped her friend's hand. "Michaela, look at me," she insisted

Reluctantly, she met Dorothy's eyes.

"You're gonna stop this," Dorothy said sternly. "You have to stop this right this minute. Sully's gone, he's not comin' back, and there's nothin' any of us can do about that, as much as I pray we could." She squeezed her hand. "Michaela, your baby's cryin'. He needs his ma. Take care of him." Gently, she placed the fussy infant in her friend's arms.

Michaela gazed down at the little bundle. Byron's tiny hands were clenched in fists, tossing discontentedly. His wide blue eyes were squinted and filled with tears. Numbly, she unbuttoned her nightgown and held him to her. The baby latched on, calming instantly.

"...He's all right?" Michaela asked hoarsely, taking one of Byron's soft little hands in her fingers.

"Of course he is," Dorothy assured her, patting her arm. "He's hungry, that's all."

"Dorothy...I can't do this," Michaela murmured weakly. "I can't. I don't know how."

"Oh, that's foolishness," Dorothy scolded. "...You just need to get back on your feet."

Michaela choked up, gazing at the helpless infant so dependent on her. He would need her constant love and attention for the next several months, and for years to come, as would Katie and Brian. She couldn't just quit on them. She had never thought to contemplate what it would be like after the baby was born. She hadn't attempted to think that far ahead. She had never imagined how difficult it was going to be, both physically and emotionally, to look after two small children, Sully's children, all on her own. It had finally hit her. She was utterly alone in this, in both the raising of the family, and in her grief. No one understood. No one. "How am I going to do this...?" she murmured fearfully.&

Sully bit back tears as Dorothy squeezed his hand. "This is all my fault," he murmured.

"Oh, no, Sully," Dorothy said.

He shook his head. "She might have taken her life, an' all because of me. I shoulda never let it get so bad that the army wanted me. O'Connor would have never come after me. Why didn't I fight him harder? And I let those bounty hunters find me. I shoulda tried harder to escape...why was I so sure everything could go back to normal as soon as I made it home?" He drew in his breath shakily. "I should never have left her. I-I should never have left her. I-I love 'er so much. We had so much. She got me through ... all those years in-in prison."

Dorothy patted his back. "It's all right to let down your guard, Sully," she assured him. "Nobody's gotta prove anythin'."

He drew in his breath shakily. "I'm never puttin' her through that kinda pain again," he said resolutely. Swallowing hard, he gazed at his friend. "I'm willin' to do anythin', whatever it takes, so long as I don't put her through that kinda pain again."

"Then tell her, Sully," Dorothy said. "Find her and tell her everythin'."

"I don't even know where she is," he replied dejectedly. "Somewhere in Chicago."

"Well, you could go to the train station tomorrow and ask Horace what the telegram said, who sent it," she encouraged. "I'll look after the children if you'd like. But you can't just stay here and wonder."

"Yeah. All right, I'll go tomorrow, just to see what it said," he agreed hesitantly. "You sure it'd be all right if I leave the kids with ya?"

Dorothy put her hand atop his. "Of course it's all right. As long as you promise to get to the bottom of this!"

to be continued...


	62. Chapter 75

Chapter Seventy-five

Katie clutched her crocheted blanket tightly to her chest, sniffling as she made her way down the stairs and followed the light of the dim lamp in the sitting room. "Mama," she cried instinctively, scurrying down the last few steps.

Sully instantly roused from his light doze in one of the wingback chairs. He stood as Katie ran up to him, brown eyes filled with tears.

"Katie?" he whispered. "What is it? What's wrong? It's late, sweet girl." He stretched his back and crouched down, smoothing her nightgown as he desperately tried to read her startled expression. "Bad dream?" he probed timidly.

Katie nodded at once, hugging her blanket tighter.

"Oh, you're all right," Sully murmured helplessly. "Let's get ya back to bed."

Even more forcefully, the little girl shook her head.

Sully rapidly tried to think what Michaela would do in such a situation. He glanced uncertainly at the kitchen, rising to his feet. "How 'bout a glass of water? That sound good?" He took a few steps toward the kitchen, surprised to see Katie immediately follow. He slowly walked the rest of the way, Katie right behind him. As gently as he could, he lifted her onto the counter beside the pump, retrieved a glass and filled it half full, then handed it to her. He watched intently as she drank it down without protest, swiping one hand across her mouth as she finished.

"There," he whispered, pressing his finger to her nose. "That feels better, don't it?"

Sully watched as Katie's eyes wandered to the kitchen window. He followed her gaze, a soft smile coming to his lips. "Lotta stars out tonight," he remarked. He raised his hand, pointing up at the sky. "See the moon?"

Katie shifted closer to him to get a better look, grasping the sleeve of his shirt for balance.

Sully slowly put his arm around her. "It's real bright," he went on. "And see those ones? That's Sagittarius."

Katie glanced at him, eyebrows raised in confusion.

"Sagittarius," he repeated. "They're a group of stars in the shape of a man with a bow. It's out this time of year. Look down low." He pointed out towards the horizon. "See those bright ones? That's the brightest part of him. They look a little like a teapot, don't they?"

Katie squinted her eyes, scrutinizing the cluster of stars Sully pointed out. She let out a tiny giggle, shaking her head.

"Ya don't see it?" Sully asked, his smile widening.

She shook her head again, glancing at him with impish eyes.

He chuckled. "Well, I ain't makin' it up. It's there." He felt her head come to rest against his shoulder and he tightened his hold around her back. "... I spent a lotta time in prison just lookin' out at the stars, thinkin' about your ma...you, thinkin' about how big ya had to be gettin'." He drew in his breath shakily. "Katie, I want ya to know that ... that I'm real glad to be back with ya ... and even, even if ya don't want to talk to me, that's gonna be all right. So ya don't have to feel like we're pushin' ya no more to do somethin' ya don't wanna do." He gently kissed her fair head. "Katie," he called softly. He paused, swallowing. "Kates?" She had fallen asleep. Slowly, he slid her off the counter and onto his shoulder. She stirred a little, held her blanket tight to her cheek, and then settled into his warm embrace.

As carefully as he could, Sully tip-toed across the kitchen and climbed the stairs to her bedroom, tucking her beneath her covers. He dimmed the lamp and knelt beside her, giving her head one last kiss. "Just being with ya, watching ya grow, that's enough for me," he whispered. "That's all I ever wished on those stars for."

& & &

"Horace?" Sully called, walking into the post office determinedly.

"Well, hello there, Sully," Preston said, turning from the counter with a pen in hand.

Sully stepped beside the banker, all but ignoring his presence.

"He ain't here, Mr. Sully," Tommy said from behind the counter. "I'll be with ya in just a minute. After I take care of Mr. Lodge."

"Yes, I'm purchasing a ticket to Denver," Preston explained. "Business to attend to next week. I won't be too long." He returned to signing the ledger book as Tommy stamped his ticket.

Sully rested his hands on the counter impatiently. "Where is he, Tommy? When will he be back?"

"Mr. Bing?" Tommy replied, closing the inkpad. "Not 'til Monday, sir."

"Monday?" Sully breathed, taken aback. "Two days?"

"He left for St. Louie yesterday. Visitin' Samantha I think. Left me in charge. I can help ya with whatever ya need in just a minute."

"What's the rush, Sully?" Preston questioned, pulling out his billfold. "I didn't even know you were back in town. And where is that lovely wife of yours? I've been meaning to see her about my back again. Perhaps I'll stop by the clinic before lunch."

Sully cast him a quick glance. "Ya can't," he told him. "She ain't here."

Preston handed Tommy a few bills and coins. "She's not? Oh, wait-yes! I heard something about this earlier. Took off for ... where is it?"

" ... Chicago," Sully said.

"Chicago?" Preston blurted, putting his ticket in his breast pocket. "Isn't that where her husband or beau or whatever he is now lives?"

"Tommy, that telegram," Sully spoke up, disregarding Preston's remark. "The telegram that came the other day for Dr. Mike. Ya remember what it said?"

Tommy closed the cash box, thinking a moment. "Dr. Mike? No ... not really. 'Sides, I'm supposed to keep things like that to myself. Mr. Bing had me take an oath."

"This is real important, son," Sully insisted. "Ya gotta try an' remember. Maybe somethin' about Chicago?"

The young man folded his arms uncomfortably. "Well, yeah, it was from Chicago I think. I'd like to see that city someday."

Sully closed his eyes, digesting the possibility. Perhaps it really was too late. "Tommy, ya gotta remember!" he said more urgently. "What'd it say? Was it ... was it from somebody named Cal?"

Startled, the boy struggled to think back. "I s'pose somethin' about a Cal sounds right. Somethin' about him needin' her? I don't know, Mr. Sully. I really didn't hardly glance at it."

"Why, Michaela's gone back to him," Preston spoke up decidedly. "She's gone back to Cal in Chicago! She'll be sending for the children next I suspect."

Sully bent his head, wounded. He had been reassured by the fact that Michaela had left the children behind, knowing she had to return to them before long. He hadn't considered the possibility that she might send for them, that he truly might never see her again. So he had been too late. So she had returned to Cal. At last he looked back up, throat gone dry. "Ya'll come get me if any word comes?"

"Yes, sir," Tommy vowed. "Right away."

"I appreciate it," Sully muttered, turning dolefully and walking out, Preston following.

"What dreadful news, Sully," Preston remarked dryly, walking briskly to keep up with him as he made his way toward the store. "If there's anything I can do ..."

"No, thanks," Sully retorted, walking faster.

"But I feel terrible about this," Preston persisted as they climbed the store steps. "I just can't imagine what you must be feeling right now. Why, at least let me buy you a drink or perhaps a cup of coffee at Grace's." Sully turned to face him, breathing deeply. "I told ya no, Preston," he retorted, voice tense. "Am I gonna have to show ya, too?"

"Now, calm down, Sully," Preston replied, following him into the store. "I'm only trying to help. There's no need to make threats."

"What's goin' on?" Loren asked, climbing down from a stepladder with a can of baked beans.

Several other townsfolk turned their heads to the commotion, among them Jake and Grace.

"I need a few bags of feed if ya have it, Loren," Sully said, arms crossed, disregarding the stares of the customers.

"Michaela's left Sully and gone to Chicago," Preston explained sardonically. "She'll be sending for the children shortly. I'm sure Sully would appreciate all the help and support we can give him right now."

Loren approached the two, resting his hand on the counter. "Is there somethin' I can get ya, Preston?"

Preston cleared his throat. "Well, no, no. I suppose I just came along with Sully, wanting to assist in any way I can."

"Unless you're planning' on buyin' somethin' it'd help me if ya made your way out," Loren spat back. "We're crowded as it is."

Preston grimaced sorely. "I see. Well! Good day, gentlemen. And, Sully, I'm truly very sorry about these grave circumstances. Have the children give Michaela my best, won't you?"

Loren gripped Sully's arm. "Feed's in the back."

"I'll help ya carry it out," Sully said quickly, turning away from Preston, not sure how much longer he could put up with the man's constant flow of provoking remarks.

"What's this about sendin' for the children?" Loren demanded as he unlocked his storage shed.

Sully swallowed. "I don't know. I guess Michaela's gone to Chicago for good."

"What in blazes? What put that in your head?"

Sully squatted down and heaved a sack of feed over his shoulder, not answering.

"Ya ain't gonna just stay here, are ya?" Loren went on. "You're gonna just let things be?"

"What do ya expect me to do?" Sully said angrily, walking out of the shed for his wagon. "She's made up her mind and there ain't nothin' I can do to change things!"

"Sure there is!" Loren contended. "Stop feelin' sorry for yourself and get yourself on the next train to Chicago!"

"I can't do that, Loren," Sully protested.

Loren grasped his arm. "Sully, you listen to me. I won't let ya make the mistakes I did. My pride tore me apart from my own daughter. You gonna let your pride stand between you and Dr. Mike? Ya gonna let it stop ya from lettin' Dr. Mike know how much ya need her?"

Sully hurled the bag of feed into the back of the wagon with force, his temper pushed to the limit by Loren's goading.

"You're always fightin' for what's important to ya, what ya believe in, ain't ya?" Loren went on. "Ain't your marriage, your wife ... ain't she important enough to fight for?"

Grace and Jake stepped out onto the porch, diverting Sully's attention.

"I'll look after the homestead for ya, Sully," Jake offered, removing his hat.

"The children can stay with me and Robert E.," Grace added.

Sully glanced from one to the other, then turned back to Loren apprehensively. "But what if-"

"You find her first," Loren replied firmly. "Ya can worry about the what ifs later."

& & &

Sully peeked out from a cove of evergreen trees as the first rays of sunlight beamed across the quiet Reservation. He glanced around, making sure no soldiers were in sight, before he raised his hands to his mouth and made a dove call.

A few minutes later, he watched as Cloud Dancing made his way cautiously out of the tent and walked over to join him. The men stood silently for a moment, gazing at each other, and finally joined hands in a warm embrace.

"It is good to see you," Cloud Dancing said. He glanced at the sunrise, a soft grin on his face. "It's early."

Sully drew in his breath. "Michaela, she's in Chicago. I gotta follow her. I'm leavin' today on the mornin' train."

Cloud Dancing nodded, as if he already knew everything before Sully even told him.

"I ain't sure how long I'm gonna be," Sully went on. "As long as it takes I s'pose. I just wanted to tell ya if I ain't home by Saturday I won't be able to bring another shipment of provisions."

"You must go," he replied. "I understand."

"I'm sorry, Cloud Dancin'," Sully said quietly.

The Indian folded his arms. "We will get by."

Sully shook his head. "I mean, I'm sorry I can't do more. I'm sorry I ain't got any more ideas in me about how to fix this ... mess. It's getting' more dangerous each day I come here and that ... that worries Michaela."

"And me," Cloud Dancing said. He walked a few paces farther into the woods, motioning for Sully to follow. "I think the moment I knew this would not go away was when I heard you were missing. Knowing this made my heart sad. It made me an old man. But it made me wiser. Suly, there's too many of them and too few of you."

"But Cloud Dancin'-" Sully began firmly.

"The white man's army and white man's government will be here for the rest of our days," Cloud Dancing replied even more resolutely. "I understand this now."

"You sayin' ya want to stop fightin'?" Sully asked despondently. "You sayin' ya want me to stop comin' here?"

Cloud Dancing paused in his steps and looked up at the sky. "I know a man who needed something and wouldn't give up until he found it. It took this man many years, he missed much of his life, but he kept trying and finally he had what he needed." He lowered his eyes back to Sully and laid his hand on his shoulder. "What you're doing now, hiding from the army to bring us food, this is good for the Cheyenne ... but we must keep searching for another way. We'll be like this man and we won't give up."

Sully slowly let out his breath. "This man can be a fool sometimes, too."

Cloud Dancing nodded softly. "I think those days are behind him now." He removed from his neck an ornament of eagle feathers, placing it in Sully's hands. "Take this with you. It will give you speed on your journey to Chicago."

"Thank you," Sully replied, clutching the feathers tight. "Hope it works."

"Until we meet again, my brother," Cloud Dancing said, a hint of tears glistening in his eyes.

"Until we meet again," Sully whispered, clasping his arm.

& & &

"I love ya, Pa," Brian murmured as he embraced Sully warmly. "Have a safe trip."

"Love ya, too, Brian," Sully replied, caressing his hair. "I'll be home as soon as I can. You keep up with your schoolwork."

"I will," Brian promised.

Sully squeezed his shoulder as he turned to Grace. The two younger children were cuddled against her skirts, Katie standing as somber as usual while Byron rubbed his eyes of a steady flow of tears.

"Come here, son," Sully murmured, lifting Byron into his arms, his heart aching. "Shh, it'll be all right. Don't cry. Don't cry."

"I don't want ya to go again, Papa," he choked.

Sully rocked him gently. "Shh. I know. I'm sorry. I'll be back real soon. And I'll wire ya right when I get there and you can wire me back, how's that sound?"

"No, I don't w-want ya to go," he insisted. "I know, maybe I will come with ya this time."

Sully hugged him tighter. "Oh, but I need ya here. I need ya to look after your brother and sister for me while I'm gone. Think ya can do that?"

The little boy considered the idea for a moment, his fingers clasped tightly around his father's neck. "I s'pose," he whispered at last.

"Good," Sully replied, kissing his cheek. He put him back on his feet, giving his arm a comforting squeeze. "Grace, I can't thank you and Robert E. enough," he said, looking the woman in the eyes.

"You just take care of yourself, Sully," Grace replied, drawing Byron back to her side and putting her arm around him reassuringly. "Matthew said he'd help out with the little ones, too. Don't worry 'bout a thing here."

Sully nodded, stooping to Katie's level and reaching out to finger the hem of her dress. "Papa's gotta go now, sweet girl," he murmured, not expecting a response from her solemn expression. "Mind Robert E. and Miz Grace."

Katie looked up, struck by the utter longing in his eyes-a yearning for a smile from her, a hug, for her to speak, perhaps even whisper his name. Timidly, she reached her hand out, touching the smooth leather of the medicine bag around his neck ever so slightly. Surprised, Sully instinctively brought his hand up to cover hers in a warm squeeze. "I'll miss ya, Katie," he whispered hoarsely, touched by the gesture. " ... Papa loves ya."

Brian watched his sister earnestly, praying for a reaction, even a small one. When nothing happened he looked away, frustrated, and cleared his throat. "Train's about ready to pull out, Pa. Don't wanna miss it."

Sully slowly stood up, picking up his pack and swinging it over his shoulder. "I'll ... I'll wire home real soon."

"... Bye," Byron whimpered, hugging Grace's waist and bravely holding back tears.

Sully raised his hand, giving the little boy a small wave, and paused to gaze at Katie once more as the train's whistle cut sharply across the cool morning air.

... Nothing.

Finally he turned, stepping onto the back of the train.

Katie watched him, a lone tear slipping down her cheek, as the engine gave off a cloud of steam,. Suddenly she broke away from Grace, running forward a few steps. "... Papa!" she called earnestly.

Startled, Sully spun back around to face her. He drew in his breath, gripping the rail, unable to believe it.

"Papa!" Katie cried again, more passionately, her lip trembling as she gave a tiny sob.

Sully reacted, jumping down from the train and falling to his knees in front of his daughter. "Katie," he murmured, cupping her cheeks in his hands as she cried. "Oh, it's all right. I'm here. I'm here, sweet girl."

"Y-you'll b-bring Mama back?" she asked, gripping his button-down shirt and drawing in her breath shakily.

He stroked back her hair. "Yeah. Mama's comin' back. I'll bring her back. Shh."

She wrapped her arms around his neck in a tight squeeze and rested her head against his shoulder.

Sully picked her up, hugging her to him and rocking her from side to side. "Shh," he murmured, kissing her head. "Shh. Oh, Kates. I'll bring her home."

Katie pulled back to look him in the eyes, pressing her hand to his cheek and stroking his whiskers. "You ... you'll come back, too?"

He caressed her head. "... I'll come back, too," he reassured her hoarsely. "Katie. Oh, I'll come back, I promise." He placed her back on her feet and kissed her brow lovingly. "I gotta get back on the train now, all right?"

"Don't go," she begged tearfully, grasping his shirt tighter. "Papa, please!"

Sully reached around his neck and lifted his beads over his head. "I gotta go get Mama, sweet girl." He held the beads out. "This is my promise we'll come back. Both of us. Then we'll all be together. We'll be a family again. You'll hold onto 'em 'til we come home?"

Katie bit her lip, nodding. "I'll hold onto 'em," she whispered, squeezing the beads with her fingers.

Sully placed them around her neck, wiping away her tears with his thumbs as the train began pulling out. "Good. I'm countin' on ya," he whispered. "I'll see ya soon."

"Hurry, Sully," Grace spoke up softly, picking up Byron and putting her arm around Brian.

Sully gave the little girl one final kiss. "I'll see ya soon, Kates. I promise."

& & &

Sully stepped wearily off the train at Dearborn Station, removing his pack from his shoulder as he took in his surroundings.

He was immediately approached by a small boy no more than eight, dressed in tattered trousers and shoes, his face smeared with soot from lingering around the train station all morning.

"Buy my last pape, mister?" the boy spoke up, removing his tattered cap politely and holding out a thick copy of the Chicago Tribune.

Almost without thinking, Sully dug in his pocket for a coin, producing a nickel and handing it to the boy. He paused briefly, resting his hand on the boy's shoulder, as he recalled his days as a young man working for pennies along the Erie Canal. He had discovered at a very early age what it was like to labor long, hot hours simply to be able to eat. It had instilled in him a need he would always carry with him to go after hard, honest work, and nothing less.

"Thank you, mister!" the boy replied, giving Sully the newspaper with a grin.

Sully tucked the paper under his arm and looked around him, sizing up the bustling city street he faced, while a few hurried passengers brushed against him on the way to their trains.

"Um, ya look lost," the boy said timidly. "You new here?"

Sully glanced down at him questioningly, as if surprised he was still there. "Well, I ... maybe ya could help me." He pulled from his pocket an empty, folded envelope. He had found it in Michaela's trunk the day before. It had contained a letter she had sent the children more than a year ago while visiting Chicago with Cal. The return address was still readable, and had been his only clue as to where she might be. He ran his finger over the faded ink. "I need to find South Indiana Avenue," he said.

"South Indiana Avenue!" the boy breathed. "That's a good seven miles away. You'll have to take a streetcar."

"All right. Get me to a streetcar then," Sully replied.

The boy put his cap back on his head. "Yes, sir! Follow me!"

& & &

Sully ascended the porch steps of the three story townhouse, eyes wide. So this was where Cal had grown up. It reminded him very much of Michaela's home in Boston, though perhaps even more elaborate. He had no idea Cal had come from money. He had certainly never given that impression.

Perhaps sharing similar backgrounds had been part of Cal and Michaela's initial attraction to each other, Sully thought. He wondered how much more they had found in common, and thought of all that was different between himself and Michaela. He glanced at his leather jacket and buckskin pants, questioning if he should have worn a suit, as an elderly gardener pulling weeds in the yard paused to stare at him, mouth agape.

Deciding there was nothing he could do now to change his appearance, Sully walked up to the mahogany door, knocking firmly. There were more important things to worry about, such as fulfilling his promise to the children-and to himself for that matter-and bringing Michaela home.

A stout maid in black and white, a feather duster in hand, opened the door. "May I help-" She stopped short, eyeing Sully up and down and then exchanging a glance with the flabbergasted gardener.

Sully extended his hand. " ... Name's Sully. I s'pose I'd like to talk to somebody here."

"Mrs. Brooks isn't expecting any callers, sir," she told him, glancing at his hand, perplexed.

"Mrs. Brooks?" he echoed, dropping his arm back to his side. That had to be Cal's mother. "I gotta talk to her," he said decisively. "Please, ma'am. I gotta talk to her."

The maid raised her eyebrows. "Really," she murmured. "Well, I suppose I can tell her you're here. Your name again?"

"Sully," he told her. "Byron Sully. Tell her it's real important. Please."

"Just a moment," the maid said, shutting the door on him.

Sully took a step back, sighing impatiently. He ran his hand across the intricately carved porch rail in admiration, noticing the gardener again, frozen in place, still staring.

"Hey," Sully called uncomfortably.

Stunned, the gardener bent to his knees, packed up his tools in his wheel barrel and steered it around the side of the house, disappearing.

Sully pressed his hand to his jacket once more, determined his appearance not hinder him from finding Michaela. He was about to knock on the door again when Camille tore it open.

The two gazed at each other for a moment, Camille simply shocked to see him, Sully surprised by her appearance. Her hair was falling from her chignon in wisps, her eyes were blood shot and her face lacked any color. This disheveled person was not who Sully had imagined would own such a fine house.

"Well," Camille said at last, voice hoarse. "Please, come in."

Sully followed her inside to the carpeted foyer, debating whether he should remove his mud-specked boots.

"I'm Camille," the woman went on, folding her hands.

"Cal's ma," Sully spoke up.

"I'm sure you've had a long trip," she began awkwardly. "May I offer you some coff-"

Sully placed his pack at his feet. "I don't mean to bother ya, ma'am. I'm sure it must be a surprise to find me at your doorstep and I appreciate ya invitin' me in. I just have to know the truth before I go back."

"The truth?" Camille echoed, eyebrows raised.

Sully glanced at two small, fair-headed girls lingering on the main staircase, watching the scene shyly. He let out his breath. "Maybe I should start over. Is Michaela here? Can I see her?"

Camille squeezed his arm. "No, I'm sorry. You just missed her-"

"She's with Cal, ain't she?" he demanded. "Mrs. Brooks, if she's leavin' me, I got a right to know. If she wants to be with Cal now, I got a right to hear it from her."

"Michaela is with Cal, yes," Camille said, tears springing to her eyes. "But there's something you should know. We need to talk."

Sully swallowed, nodding.

Camille took his arm. "Please, come into the parlor, Mr. Sully. Let's sit down first."

to be continued...


	63. Chapter 77

Chapter Seventy-seven

Caroline and Camille slowly entered the hospital room, gazing at Michaela questioningly.

Michaela gave a slight nod in reply, knowing nothing needed to be said. She brought her hand back to Cal's forehead. "They're here now. It's all right. They're here," she told him.

"Oh, darling. Here we are," Camille murmured, falling to her knees beside the bed and caressing Cal's arm.

Cal let his eyes rest briefly on his mother, his mouth set in a soft smile. "... Momma," he uttered hoarsely.

"Oh, yes, I'm here," she replied tearfully, mustering all the strength she could. "I'm here, darling."

Caroline came beside her mother, putting her arm around her and forcing a smile through her tears. "We're all here, Cal. It's all right now."

No longer able to speak, Cal gazed at his mother and sister tenderly for several minutes. Camille and Caroline kept their composure, understanding their time with Cal was rapidly nearing an end, but wanting his last few moments to be loving, quiet and tranquil. They knelt by his side and whispered words of comfort as each breath he took became more arduous.

At last, Cal let his gaze fall back on Michaela. He tightened his hold on her hand as she reached up to stroke his hair. He was bathed in sweat, but his skin was cool and clammy. His breathing had slowed to only a few strained gasps each minute. She held his hand to her cheek, his fingers a faint blue.

Cal gave a sigh, smiling softly at her touch. Michaela remained motionless, keeping his hand at her cheek, tears she had not realized she had shed slipping onto his fingers. Several minutes passed, the only sound faint steps in the hallway of nurses and doctors passing by. At last, Michaela reached her hand up and brought it down over Cal's eyes, then removed her fingers from his, gave his hand a soft kiss and laid it across his chest.

& & &

The city streets were bustling with surreys, coaches, streetcars and riders as Sully stepped down from the porch of the boarding house and breathed in the warm morning air. He and Camille had talked for over an hour the day before. Sully had listened, eyes lowered in pain, as Camille told him all the details of Cal's accident. He realized now Michaela had simply wanted to wish Cal goodbye. She had taken off for Chicago so quickly because she knew it was quite possible Cal's injuries were so grave there was little chance for his survival.

Afterward, Camille had somewhat awkwardly insisted that Sully stay upstairs in one of guestrooms, but he had refused. What with her son so ill, he knew she didn't need to worry about keeping guests. He had left that evening for the boarding house a few miles away, not sure what to do next.

Sully hailed a streetcar and climbed aboard, handing the driver a coin and telling him Camille's address. First things first, he would go back and find out how Cal had fared during the night.

Ten minutes later Sully jumped down from the streetcar, gazing once more at the grandiose town house from the opposite side of the street. He drew in his breath as two young boys on bicycles nearly collided into him as they zoomed by, likely on their way to school. Brushing off his jacket, he stepped back to watch them fondly while they giggled and shouted to one another as they rounded a corner. When he turned back, a covered carriage had pulled up to the front of the house, driven by a servant Sully had noticed walking out of the stables the day before. The driver descended the carriage and opened the door, giving a hand down first to a young woman Sully didn't recognize and following her, Camille.

Sully watched as the woman put her arm around Cal's mother. Their faces were set in such anguished expressions Sully nearly shuddered. Camille was wearing the same gown she had on when he had met her, now even more wrinkled and unkempt. They staggered up the walk, leaning on one another.

"Thank you, Oliver," a woman said softly as the driver reached into the carriage and took her hand.

Sully's eyes quickly darted to the familiar voice. Michaela was dressed in her traveling gown, her hat haphazardly pinned atop her tousled hair. She clutched a handkerchief in her hand, and though her eyes were moist and her cheeks flushed, Sully thought she seemed fairly composed. He looked on, frozen in place and unnoticed, as Michaela followed the two women inside.

Sully clutched the lamppost beside him with one hand. Michaela didn't even know he was in the city, he was sure of it. He could hardly expect Cal's mother to mention him dropping by the house. With all Camille was going through, she probably hadn't even had time to think about her talk with him the night before. Sully took a deep breath, quickly realizing there could be no other explanation for the women's grief. Camille had lost her son. He turned his back on the scene, folding his arms. Cal was gone.

& & &

Byron climbed up onto the bottom rung of the porch railing, shielding his eyes with one hand as he watched the road hopefully. He propped his stuffed bear beside him, turning it to face the road.

A bucket of water in hand, Brian climbed the steps, eyeing his little brother compassionately. "Come on, B. Get down now," he said, placing the bucket on the porch and lifting Byron off the rail.

"Don't worry, Mr. Bear. They will be back soon," Byron told his toy, taking a seat on the bench and snuggling it in his lap.

"That's right," Brian said reassuringly, sitting beside him and putting his arm around him.

"Brian ... you sure Mama didn't get missing and go to heaven like Papa did?" Byron questioned, looking up at his older brother with a frown.

Brian squeezed his shoulder. "B. No, don't think that. She sent us that wire just the other day, remember? She's just fine. Pa'll bring her back real soon, just like he said."

Katie stepped out onto the porch and joined her brothers, fingering the beads around her neck thoughtfully. "How do you know?" she asked.

Brian lifted her into his lap. "Well, because Pa promised." He squeezed her beads in his fist. "And he always keeps his promises."

Resting her head against Brian's shoulder, Katie gazed at the bear her little brother was so devotedly holding in his lap. Byron had his own toys he was attached to and wouldn't have had any particular fondness for the bear if it weren't for his sister. Since the moment Michaela had asked him to look after it for Katie, he had made it his serious responsibility to do just that.

Katie reached her hand out and touched the pink ribbon around the bear's neck. "Byron..." she began timidly.

He turned to face her instantly, licking his lips.

"You think maybe I can have him back now?" she whispered, gripping one of the bear's paws.

Byron climbed down from the bench, hugging the bear to his chest. "You promise you take good care of him?"

She nodded earnestly.

"All right, you can have him back," Byron replied. He gave the toy a kiss on the head, then laid him carefully in his sister's arms. "G'bye, Mr. Bear."

Katie stroked her toy's head and held him to her cheek. "...You can still play with him sometimes if you want," she offered sweetly.

Byron smiled wide, clutching the hem of her skirt in his hands. "Maybe we both can play with him! You wanna play, too, Brian?"

Brian grinned, tousling his hair. "Sure. That sounds like fun."

"And Mama and Papa can, too," Byron added, looking out at the road longingly. "When they get back home."

Katie followed his gaze, hugging her bear tight. "Yeah," she whispered. "Mama and Papa, too."

& & &

As the minister spoke the eulogy over Cal's plot, Michaela found her eyes wandering listlessly up to the sky. She couldn't remember a more gorgeous June morning. The small gathering of mourners, all clothed in cheerless black, just didn't seem to fit. She tightened her arms around Rose and Annabelle, drawing them against her comfortingly. The two children were watching the happenings with wide, tearful blue eyes, neither truly understanding the implications of everything that was taking place. Michaela had taken it upon herself to look after the little girls throughout the wake, funeral and now the burial, realizing Camille and Caroline needed one another's full attention as they grieved. Mother and daughter stood side by side, clinging to each other, weeping quietly, faces shattered with grief.

Michaela gazed at them forlornly, feeling the same sorrow at the passing of such a loving, beautiful person. Still, she felt a need to hold herself together, at least on the outside. She felt she owed it to Cal to step in for him and be the women's strength, having silently vowed shortly after his death to see to it his beloved mother and sister made it through the steps of laying his body to rest without having to worry about taking care of and comforting her, too.

At last, the minister finished his remarks. He picked up a shovel and handed it across to Michaela.

"Come here, darlings," Caroline whispered hoarsely, holding her hands out to her children and guiding them to stand beside her. She turned her attention back to Michaela, swallowing hard.

Michaela squeezed the handle of the shovel tightly in her hands, her eyes once more wandering heavenward. "I was asked to provide some final words as we lay Cal to rest on this beautiful, sunny morning," she began steadily. "He was always just that, bright and cheerful, always livening our moods, always there to lift our spirits. He told me once that his greatest fear was somehow hurting those he loved, even unintentionally. I don't know if he ever realized how much he instead took us away from our pain ... I know Cal was there for me when I most needed my spirits lifted, never giving up on me, and I think that was his greatest gift, the devotion he had for those he cared for. In closing today, I'd like to read part of a passage Cal shared with me the first year I knew him. It helped me then in my grief ... and I hope it will be of some comfort to us now."

Camille held out her leather-bound Bible tearfully, but Michaela hesitated and finally shook her head, realizing there was no need to open it. She knew the verse by heart. "To every thing there is a season," she recited softly, "and a time to every purpose under heaven. A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted; A time to kill, and a time to heal ... A time to weep, and a time to laugh." She paused, slowly drawing in her breath as she gathered what little strength she had left. "A time to mourn and a time to dance." She dug the shovel into the soil. "Rest peacefully, Cal," she said, letting a shower of soil fall onto the casket. She turned to Camille and handed the shovel to her, and together Camille and Caroline scattered dry earth atop the casket.

"In sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life through our Lord Jesus Christ," the minister said, hands folded, "we commend to Almighty God our brother Calvin and we commit his body to the ground; earth to earth; ashes to ashes, dust to dust. The Lord bless him and keep him, the Lord make his face to shine upon him and be gracious unto him and give him peace. Amen."

"Amen," Michaela echoed quietly, bringing her handkerchief to her lips as she struggled to keep tears at bay. She watched as the mourners gradually made their way out of the cemetery, several dabbing at tears, others pausing beside Caroline or Camille to offer words of consolation.

Annabelle gazed at the headstone, frowning in puzzlement, then looked up at her weeping mother. "Now what happens, Momma?" she asked.

Caroline squeezed her hand tenderly. "Now we go home," she murmured. "Come along, darling."

Camille let her eyes fall once more on the casket, tears flowing, and then turned away, grasping Rose's hand and following Caroline through the white-washed gate of the cemetery.

Michaela lingered behind, unmoving, staring at the casket disbelievingly. Memories of everything Cal had done for her came flooding back. She sighed softly as she recalled all the times he had made her smile and laugh. She was thankful that he had rescued her from the stagecoach accident and then so willingly been right by her side throughout Byron's birth, but she knew what had truly saved her was the happiness he had helped her rediscover. What had truly saved her from perhaps even taking her own life were all the smiles Cal had coaxed out of her and the hope he had helped her find.

Finally, she knelt beside the casket, resting her hand on the polished wood. "You were a remarkable man," she whispered, a warm breeze rustling the wisps of hair framing her face. "I'll always be grateful for what you did for me, for the children. Cal, I don't know what's going to happen when I go back, but I'll do everything I can to be sure we'll make it through whatever is in store for us, I promise. So don't worry about us, all right? I promise we'll be all right." She felt her voice breaking and her legs weakening, and swallowed hard to keep herself in control. "I'll miss you, Cal," she breathed. Closing her eyes, she placed a small kiss on the casket.

Michaela felt a warm, comforting sensation wash over her. Brow narrowed in puzzlement, she stood up unsteadily, one hand pressed to her heart.

"Sully?" she found herself murmuring hesitantly. She turned gradually from the casket, her lowered eyes falling first on his buckskin pants, then traveling slowly upward to his familiar shirt, his leather jacket, and finally his tender blue gaze. He was standing across the cemetery at the gate, arms at his sides, watching her compassionately, hopefully.

Michaela felt the strength returning to her legs as she walked to him, breath caught in her throat. "You came," she said hoarsely. "Oh, Sully."

Sully reaching up to stroke her cheek, eyes filled with concern. "You all right?"

She pursed her lips, choking back a sob. "N-no," she whispered.

He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her, holding her to his chest in a loving embrace. "Shh," he soothed, rubbing her back. "I'm here."

At last secure in his arms, Michaela let go what little poise she had managed to hang onto and allowed tears she had been holding back for so long to flow freely at last. Sully held her tight and rocked her, whispering soothing words of reassurance and kissing her hair.

"I'm so glad you came," she murmured, drawing in her breath and clutching his shirt. "I can't believe you're here."

"I'm here. I'm right here," he said softly. "Just where I wanna be."

& & &

Sully watched silently as Michaela gradually stirred, her head resting against his chest. He tightened his hold around her back as she let out her breath in a small yawn and blinked her eyes.

"Hey," he whispered.

She glanced up at him drowsily. "How long have I been sleeping?"

He shrugged, gazing out the window at the setting, red summer sun. "About an hour."

"Where are we?" she asked, following his gaze to the flat, endless prairie, an evening wind gusting across the dry grass.

"Somewhere outside Lincoln last I heard," he told her, returning his eyes to hers. "You feel like somethin' to eat? We could take a walk to the dining car."

"No, not right now," she replied

"You just let me know when you're hungry," he said. "We got a long night ahead of us. Weren't any sleepin' cars left."

"I'm comfortable," Michaela assured him. "Besides they're too expensive anyway and it's only one night."

He swallowed. "As long as you're all right."

She reached her arm across her lap for his hand, squeezing it tightly in hers. "I am. I just can't wait to be home."

"Me, too," he replied, drawing their joined hands to his breast.

"How did you know I was in Chicago, Sully?" she asked softly. "Did someone ride to Silver Cliff to tell you?"

"I came home the same day you left. Brian and Grace said you'd gone." He softly kissed her brow. "I didn't know what to think. I started thinkin' maybe ... I don't know, that you'd given up, weren't coming back."

"Not coming back?" she breathed. "Oh, Sully. I'm sorry. The telegram was so urgent. There simply wasn't time for explanations."

"I know," he said. "But after what happened, the Reservation, me getting that job in Silver Cliff ... I wouldn't of blamed ya."

"I was frightened you were the one who had given up," she whispered. "After you left for work, when we didn't hear anything from you for weeks, I thought ..." She paused. "I thought of all I wanted to say to you and was afraid I'd never get the chance."

"I want to talk, too," he replied tenderly. "But, when we're home."

"Home," she echoed. "Sully, I miss the children so much," she said dolefully.

He caressed her shoulder, pressing his lips to her brow once more. "Michaela, she spoke to me. Katie spoke to me."

Her eyes flew up to his face, searching his features in disbelief. She held her breath, waiting for him to go on.

"She called me 'papa,'" he said, voice filled with emotion. "She ran to me and hugged me real tight. Michaela, she said 'papa'. Our little girl."

Speechless, she reached her hand up and caressed his cheek. "Papa," she at last choked out.

He brought his hand up over hers, stroking it with his fingers. "She didn't want me to go. She was afraid the both of us were leavin' her. I promised her I'd come back. I promised I'd bring her ma back."

"I'm so glad you followed me," she told him. "I'm so happy we're together." She shifted in her seat, brought her hands around his neck and kissed his lips.

"I never shoulda gone to Silver Cliff," he said. "You were all I could think about. All I wanted to do was be home. Then when I did come back and you were gone ... I thought I'd lost ya for good, that I was too late. I thought I'd made the biggest mistake of my life, takin' off for that job like I did."

She smoothed back his hair, touched. "It's not too late, Sully."

He gave her lips another soft, loving kiss, then held her to him, his cheek pressed to her brow, her fingers laced with his. Once they were home, alone, there would be plenty of time to tell her everything he wanted to say, give his heart to her like he had always been able to before. Now, he simply wanted to feel her in his arms, her heart beating, and the warmth of her hand in his. He felt secure and at peace at last, Michaela by his side.

& & &

Sully snuggled Byron tighter in his lap, seated on his bed. Brian and Katie were sitting beside him, watching him expectantly as he retold a Cheyenne myth.

Stepping off the train that morning, he couldn't have been more relieved to see the children waiting at the station for them, eagerly anticipating their return. Sully had immediately lifted Katie off her feet and into his arms, telling her how much he had missed her and thought about her. Now here they were, the three children most precious to him, gathered around him just like he had always dreamed. He felt emotions rising as he held Byron even tighter and gently kissed his head.

"The woman was placed in the north and was in control of Hoimaha," Sully went on softly. "Hoimaha was the winter man, who controls the power of storms, cold and snow. And the man, he was placed in the south and he controls the thunder. And that's how the Cheyenne believe the earth came to be."

" ... That's a good one," Brian spoke up, resting his hands on his knees.

"I like Cheyenne stories," Katie said shyly, gently clutching her father's arm.

"Another story now, Papa," Byron urged, clutching the ends of his little nightshift in his hands.

Sully cleared his throat, glancing at the doorway where Michaela had appeared. She nodded in approval and slowly entered the room. "Actually, kids," he began carefully. "We got somethin' we want ya to know." Sully stood up and laid Byron against his pillows. Then he took Michaela's hand and kissed it encouragingly. They had come to a decision together that the children should be told about Cal's death, and Michaela had insisted that she could do it on her own, even felt obligated to tell them on her own. Sully had understood and agreed she was probably right, that it would be best if it came from her. He felt prepared to give she and the children the space that they needed.

"I'll be right downstairs," he said softly.

She nodded, squeezing his hand. "Thank you." Slowly, she walked over to the children, taking a seat on the bed where Sully had been. Cal had held such a special place in the children's lives. She thought perhaps her fondest memory of him was the time Cal had agreed to allow Byron to think of him as his "papa." It had meant the world to her, and to her little boy. Cal had never done anything without the utmost respect for Sully's memory. Michaela knew how uncomfortable acting as a substitute father had always been for him, but was so grateful for his willingness to do anything if it would bring the children a little happiness after losing Sully.

"What's wrong, Ma?" Brian asked hoarsely.

"Well," she began, putting her arm around Katie securely. "I'm afraid I have some sad news. You know Mama had to go to Chicago right away."

"You got a telegram," Katie said.

"That's right," she went on. "Once I got there, I found out that there was a bad fire at an Indian camp, in Wyoming? And two Indian children, they were hurt and had to go to the hospital."

"They all right?" Brian asked, tensing. "What happened?"

"They're going to be fine now," she replied unsteadily. "A very brave soldier saw the fire, and he rode down to the camp and pulled the children out of their tepees so they could get to a doctor and get well again."

"Cal is a soldier," Byron said quietly.

Michaela caressed his shoulder. "Hm-hm. The soldier that helped those children, that was Cal."

"That was Cal?" Brian asked, eyebrows raised.

Michaela took a deep breath. "Yes. He was burned while he was rescuing those children. He ... the burns, they were ... "

"He's gonna get better?" Katie spoke up, eyes welling with tears. "Did it hurt?"

"I burned my finger on the iron, remember, Mama?" Byron spoke up. "That hurt bad."

"Yes, sweetheart, but you see with Cal's injuries, they were quite a bit more extensive," Michaela explained. "He had burns all down his arms and legs and a little on his chest that made breathing very difficult, and he had to go to the hospital in Chicago. That's what I was doing, visiting him and helping the doctors give him lots of medicine so he didn't feel any hurt at all."

"When's he gonna be outta there?" Brian asked hesitatingly.

Michaela closed her eyes. "His injuries were just too serious. There was nothing anyone could do. He ... he didn't make it, Brian."

"Maybe you can give him more medicine, Mama. You ... you're a doctor," Byron spoke up, voice breaking.

Michaela kissed his head. "No, Brynie. He's in heaven now."

"No. I don't want him to go to heaven," Katie whimpered.

Michaela held her tight. "No one did, sweetheart. Sometimes ... terrible things happen that we don't understand. It's all right to be sad. This is a very sad thing."

Unexpected tears welled in Brian's eyes. "But that ain't fair. He was just tryin' to help those kids!"

"I know," Michaela murmured. "But do you know what I think is special? Cal had to go to heaven, but if he hadn't tried to save those children, perhaps they wouldn't have gotten out of their tepee. Perhaps God saw how frightened they were and then He sent Cal to help them."

"Maybe he's an angel," Katie said, sniffling quietly.

"Yes. I like thinking of it that way," Michaela replied as Katie rested her head against her shoulder. "I know this isn't going to be easy, but we have each other if we need a hug or just want to talk, and we have Papa, who loves us and wants to help us through this. He told me so himself. It's going to take a little time, but we're going to be all right, hm?"

"We'll be all right," Byron murmured, rubbing his eyes of tears.

Katie nodded, swallowing hard. "Yeah."

Brian tentatively took his mother's hand. "Are you all right, Ma?"

Michaela smiled softly, smoothing back Katie's hair and holding Byron close. "Yes. I am now."

to be continued...


	64. Chapter 78

Chapter Seventy-eight

Sully rose from his seat at the table as he heard Michaela coming down the stairs. He crossed his arms and eyed her tentatively as she walked over to him.

"How'd they take it?" he began softly.

"They were upset, saddened," she admitted. "But they're glad the Indian children are safe."

He nodded slowly. "They sleepin' now?"

"Yes, all of them," Michaela replied.

"They've been through a lot more than most kids," he said. "Michaela, I meant what I told ya. I want to do all I can to help our family with what happened. I'm here."

She stepped forward and took his hands. "I know. And the children do, too."

He swallowed, glancing out the front door. "Ya wanna sit out on the porch for a little bit?"

She wrapped her arm around his waist. "I'd love to."

Together they walked out the front door where Wolf was dozing lazily on the front steps. They took a seat on the bench, Michaela snuggling against Sully's chest.

"They're so strong," Sully remarked after a time.

"The children?" she murmured. "Yes, they are."

"Michaela," he said softly. "How'd you tell Byron and Katie about me? I mean, when they got bigger did they ever wonder why I wasn't there? Did they ask?"

"Of course they asked. Sometimes quite often." Michaela reassured him. "I don't think they understood you were missing so much as they understood the fact that our family was different. They didn't have a 'pa.'"

He kissed her brow encouragingly.

"I just kept telling them how much you didn't want to leave," she whispered, "but how you watched over them ... from heaven," she whispered. "But that they were special just the same, they we loved them and wanted them so very much. I told them I was certain our family was the last thing you thought of when the accident happened."

"Yeah. You were," he said hoarsely. He nodded at the twinkling stars. "I was tellin' Katie, I'd look up at the night sky from my cell and just think about all of ya."

"I did that, too, Sully. Every night I'd watch the moon and the stars from our window."

"I think that kept me going, the thought that you might be lookin' at the same sky. I just had to believe you were." He gently stroked her arm from shoulder down to the back of her hand, warming at the soft touch of her breath against his chest. A few minutes later he glanced down, realizing her eyes were closed. He gently squeezed her arm. "Michaela?"

" ... Hm?"

"Don't tell me you've fallen asleep on me, too," he said, pressing his finger to her cheek.

"Almost. I suppose it's been a long day."

He smoothed back her hair and tilted her chin up to meet his lips in a soft kiss. "Sure has. Go on in. Get some rest."

She gazed into his eyes, pressing her lips once more to his. "Goodnight, Sully," she whispered.

"I'll see ya tomorrow," he replied tenderly.

& & &

Late afternoon sunlight peeked through the trees in long beams, adding a magical spark to the woods as Sully and Michaela continued their stroll along the deer path, hardly speaking, fingers locked tightly together.

Michaela thought they must have been walking for almost an hour, just enjoying the quietness of the woods and each other's company, when she felt at last ready to begin opening up to him.

"Jack came by the homestead while you were in Silver Cliff, Sully," she spoke up.

Sully squeezed her hand in response. "Jack?" he echoed in disbelief. "Jack from ... ?"

"From the prison, yes," she finished. "He wanted to see you, see how you were doing."

"Can't believe he did that," Sully said. " ... He was good to me. He was a good man," he went on. "He didn't have to help me like he did. He's the reason I'm here. Wish I coulda seen him."

"I invited him to supper," she replied, "and afterward we were talking and I ... I asked him about you and what you went through in there." She lowered her eyes guiltily. "I know. I shouldn't have asked. You didn't want me to know and I should have respected that."

He gazed at her, speechless. "No, it's all right I just ... Part of me didn't want you to know so ya wouldn't be hurt, but another part ... another part of me was scared. It scared me to talk about it, even think about it. It was like a nightmare. I wanted to forget it. And it ... "

"What?" she pressed, grasping his arm in support.

He looked away. "Michaela, when I thought about the prison, it would make me think of, well, how I got there. How it was all my fault. How I abandoned you, Katie, the older kids. Byron. I was a coward and didn't want to face that."

"Oh, Sully, you're not a coward," she immediately replied. "It was my fault. I was the one who kept forcing you to think about it when it hurt you so much. I should have given you the time and space you needed."

"Well, I ain't gonna run from it anymore," he said resolutely. "Or you. I wanna talk about it."

She sighed, relieved, and squeezed his hand tighter. "And I want to listen."

He reached up and scratched his chin, taking in a breath. "What did Jack tell ya?"

She swallowed, her pace slowing. "About the filth, the sickness, the-the rats. What little they gave you for food."

"Yeah," he replied. "It wouldn't have been so bad if it weren't for the smell. I could hardly breathe sometimes, or hardly stomach anything."

"He told me about the isolation cell," she continued, "and how they beat you and put you in chains. Even broke your arm."

He slowly came to a stop, released Michaela's hands and held his arms out in front of him, carefully examining his scarred wrists. "That's how I got these."

"Yes," she murmured.

" ... Jack, he tell ya about one-hundred eighty?"

She shook her head. "One-hundred eighty? Was that another prisoner?"

He nodded. "Man about my age. His cell was across from mine. He didn't talk much, but I heard he had a wife and family, too. He'd been sent there for life. They said he killed a man in cold blood. Who knows whether he really did it or not." He drew in his breath, gathering the strength to go on. "It was my first winter there, a real cold night, and I was sitting on my cot. I couldn't sleep. Never could sleep well there. I heard him moving around in his cell, and I didn't pay attention at first ... but then I looked up and ... "

She reached up and stroked back his hair. "It's all right. I'm here."

"I looked up and he'd gotten a towel around his neck," he went on shakily. "Tied it tight to the bars and was hanging himself. I shouted to him, I called for the guards, got my cup and banged it against the bars, woke everybody up and still they didn't come. And the whole time he just kept on kicking, his face swellin' and turning white and then blue."

"Oh, Sully."

"By the time those guards got there, wantin' to know what all the noise was ... it was too late. All I could think was that I couldn't let that happen to me. I couldn't let that place win." He shook his head, a lump forming in his throat. "Getting word to ya and comin' home were all I thought about. I went crazy tryin' to think how to escape."

"You tried the best that you could," she told him. "You did all you could."

He turned to face her, surprised at how hard he had to work to hold back tears. "It was you that got me through. Just thinkin' about how much I had back at home got me through. Just tryin' to hang on to all those memories, meetin' you, how you made me feel, us gettin' married, livin' together at the homestead ... what it felt like just to hold ya." He took her face in his hands, voice filled with emotion. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry this happened. I never...never meant for this to ..." He closed his eyes as a single tear slipped down his cheek, a tear he had wanted to let go of for ages. "I-I'm sorry I couldn't talk to ya, Michaela," he choked out. "I wanted to."

She slid her hand up his strong, warm arm to his wrist and lifted it up, tenderly pressing her lips to the pale, taught band of scar tissue the chains had left behind. She kissed each wrist slowly and comfortingly, then brought her hands to his face, brushed away the tear, and wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, resting her head beneath his chin.

He inhaled shakily and held her to him, smoothing her hair with one hand. "I missed you," he whispered.

"I missed you," she replied. "I missed you so much."

He pulled back to look in her eyes. "Few days back, I found those letters ya wrote."

"Letters?" she questioned.

"To Katie and Byron," he explained. "About me ... us."

"Oh," she whispered as the recollection of how difficult things had been returned. "I haven't thought about those in a long time. You read them?"

He nodded. "Every word. You wrote pages and pages about you and me, how we met and all about what I was like. Michaela, if I were really gone, that's just how I'd want our kids to know me. Through your words."

"It's how I truly feel," she replied.

He wrapped his arm around her back and began walking again, slowly, Michaela beside him. "I didn't know until a few days ago that after I was missin' ..." He paused, drawing in his breath bravely. "After I was missin' and ya couldn't find me, ya wanted to give up. End it all. I didn't know."

She closed her eyes. "I was so devastated. You brought me so much happiness and when you were taken away I was so frightened I'd never have anything like that ever again. I loved the children of course but sometimes just looking at them was painful. Sometimes I wouldn't even want to hold Byron or Katie, even when they cried. They reminded me so much of you. Especially Byron. He always looked so much like you. I had lost nearly all hope."

"Dorothy said it was Cal's idea, the letters," Sully said quietly.

She looked up in surprise. "Yes, it was. It helped letting it all out on paper. I felt as if everyone wanted me to forget you and move on. But Cal never made me feel something was wrong with me. He helped me work through what I was experiencing. I felt safe with him."

He ran his hand down her back in support. "That when you fell in love?" he asked softly.

Taken aback, she stopped them in their tracks. "Sully, we don't have to-"

"Michaela, it's all right," he went on earnestly. "I'm ready to know."

She hesitated as they gradually resumed their stroll. "I suppose it ... it wasn't as soon as that, at least for me. He told me later he'd had feelings for me since the first day we met, but I think it took me much longer before what I felt for him was love." She struggled to find the right words to explain. "Sully, every morning since the day you were missing, I would wake up and look beside me, as if expecting you would be there. I spent so much time thinking about you and how you might feel about Cal. When I realized what I felt for him was more than just a friendship, I thought about you and I when we used to talk about what we would do if something happened to one of us."

"How we'd want the other to be happy," Sully put in. "Find love again."

"That's right," she replied. "Gradually Cal and I began to court and talk of marriage, but something didn't feel right. I kept coming back to that conversation, trying to convince myself developing a relationship with Cal was the right thing to do. I loved him, I wouldn't have even considered marriage if I didn't ... but, it was so different. You filled my dreams all night the day before I married him, Sully. I had to force myself to push back all those thoughts of you and I. Even after Cal and I were wed I was still having dreams, every night at one point. I was still waking up and looking for you."

"Ya felt me," he murmured, moved. "I didn't think ya did. Sometimes I thought ya maybe forgot me."

"Oh, how could I?" she replied passionately. "Even if I wanted to I couldn't forget. In hindsight ... I suppose I should have listened to all the dreams, the feelings."

"Michaela," he murmured, "you were sure I was gone for good. Ya had the kids to think about, and your own happiness, too. And ya had that memory of me tellin' ya it's all right to find love again."

"But you weren't gone," she said.

"For four years I was," he replied unsteadily. "As much as I wish that hadn't happened to me, as much as I wish I somehow coulda gotten word to ya ... I couldn't be here and I'm glad somebody like him stepped in, helped ya when ya needed it the most. Gave you and the kids some happiness after all ya went through."

"You don't have to say that," she contended.

"I mean it," he replied, holding her tighter. "I've had lots of time to think it over and I mean it." He paused a moment, rubbing her arm with his hand. "He did a brave thing. Saved the lives of those Indian kids. It wasn't right he had to go like that."

She looked up, lip quivering. "I know, but it was easier this time, being there to hold his hand, say goodbye ... having a body to put to r-rest."

He kissed her head lovingly. "It's easier for me this time, too, knowing I can be here for ya."

She wrapped her arms around his waist. "I love you, Sully."

He kissed her head once more and held her even tighter. "I love you." Slowly, he looked up. "You remember where this path goes?"

She glanced around them, brow narrowed. "No, I don't think so. Where?"

He smiled softly and took her hand, increasing their pace. "Come on. Follow me."

& & &

"Close your eyes," Sully said as he led Michaela by the hand out of the clearing.

"Why?" Michaela questioned.

"Just close 'em," he said determinedly. He brought her another several steps forward, an amused smile on his face. "No peekin' now."

"I'm not," Michaela insisted as they slowed to a stop.

"All right," Sully whispered, wrapping his arm around her waist. "Look."

Michaela obeyed, drawing in her breath as she gazed at the most beautiful sunset she had ever seen, against the backdrop of rocky, snow-capped mountains. Suddenly, she realized Sully had led them to the very edge of the cliff, the bushes and trees of the valley some five hundred feet below. Instinctively she took a step back, nervously grasping Sully's shirt with one hand.

"It's all right. I got ya," Sully murmured reassuringly, tightening his hold around her waist.

She smiled ever so slightly and stepped back to the edge. "I trust you," she murmured back.

"Ain't it beautiful?" he said, moving to stand behind her and pressing his cheek to hers.

"It's ... stunning," she said breathlessly, returning her eyes to the scene.

"Ya remember this place?" he asked.

" ... You brought us here when we first began courting," Michaela replied slowly. "You said there were no maps."

He turned her around to face him and took her hands. "Michaela, I ain't sure what I'm gonna do about me findin' work, or about the Indians and the Reservation, but I do know if I got you with me ... we can get through anythin'. There ain't any maps now, either. But I'm willin' to start off without one again."

"So am I, Sully," she said softly.

He got down on his knees and pulled from his pocket her wedding ring, looking up into her eyes. Michaela gasped softly in surprise. So much had happened since Sully had returned, she hadn't paused to think of the ring she had so carefully tucked away in her jewelry box years ago. Eyes warm and filled with devotion, Sully slipped it slowly onto her finger. "I know now we can't just go back to what we had before. But we can build it again, and it'll be even stronger this time. Us, we'll be even stronger. I asked ya this once before and you said yes. Will ya this time?"

"Will I what?" she asked, smiling impishly.

He kissed the back of her hand. " ... Will you marry me, Michaela?"

She squeezed his hands tight. "Yes ... with all my soul."

& & &

Byron and Katie raised their heads as they heard the wagon pull into the yard. Sharing a glance and then bursting into grins, they slid down from their older brother's lap and hurried to the door. Brian closed the storybook he had been reading to them and followed close behind.

Byron tore open the door as Michaela came in. "Mama, we had the bestest time," he began immediately.

Sully came in the door, canteens in hand, bursting into a smile as Katie ran to him. "We had fun with Brian, Papa," she spoke up, grinning shyly.

He stooped to her level and gave her a tender hug. It felt so wonderful to finally talk with her and cuddle with her again. It felt so wonderful to see her smiling at him. "That's great, Kates. You tell us all about it."

"We helped make supper," she replied, "and we played hide 'n' seek and Brian played checkers with us-"

"I won," Byron put in matter-of-factly. "And then we read two stories. I got to pick out one and Katie picked out one."

Brian grinned as he held up the colorful storybook for his parents to see.

"Well, it sounds like you did have a good time," Michaela said.

"You have a nice walk?" Brian asked.

Sully glanced at Michaela and put his arm around her instinctively. "Real nice."

Byron discreetly rubbed his eyes and then looked up at his parents with a calculated pout of his lips. "Can we get one more story? Please?"

Sully caressed his head. "Ya've had two stories already, son. Brian's eyes are all tuckered out I bet. Bed time now, all right?"

Byron considered the idea a moment, then nodded obediently. "All right, Papa. 'Night."

Sully smiled and drew him to his side in a warm hug. "'Night, Byron. See ya in the mornin'."

"Night, Papa," Katie said bravely, blinking up at him and then hugging his legs.

Sully held his children tighter and kissed each of their heads, closing his eyes. "'Night, kids. I love ya."

Michaela took the children's hands. "Come on. I'll tuck you in."

"I'll help ya, Ma," Brian offered, turning for the stairs, then quickly reverting back. "Oh-Pa? There's a package there for ya on the table. Looks like a book or somethin'. Mr. Bing brought it by."

Sully walked to the table and picked up the brown-wrapped package curiously. "Thanks, Brian. And thanks for lookin' after the kids."

"Sure. It was fun. See ya in the morning," the boy replied.

"See ya," Sully murmured as he pulled out a chair and sat at the table. He removed his knife from his belt, cut open the twine on the package and pealed back the paper, breath held.

A few minutes later Michaela returned downstairs, coming behind him and draping her arms over his shoulders. "They're asleep," she said.

"That's good," Sully replied quietly, a hastily scratched letter in one hand and a small, dog-eared, leather-bound book in the other.

"Who wrote you?" she asked, smoothing back his hair as she took in his solemn expression.

"It's from Jack," he said. "He don't know how to read, but he had his cousin write this up for him."

"What does he say?" she went on hesitantly.

"There was another hold-up at a bank in New Mexico. Two men killed this time."

"Oh, no," she replied. "Did they capture the perpetrators?"

"Yeah. The man that did it, he was the Indian from the wanted poster, the one that they used to put me in prison. He confessed to my crime and then to this one that just happened. Judge is sure to send him to jail, probably for life."

She drew in her breath and squeezed his shoulder. "Then ... this means no one will have any reason to come after you for escaping. We don't have to worry anymore."

"Yep," he murmured.

"This is good news, isn't it?"

He placed the letter on the table and squeezed the book with both hands. "Jack took sick, Michaela. Doc told him his heart's weak, gonna give out soon. He won't be workin' at the prison anymore."

"Oh," she whispered.

He drew in his breath. "He talks like he's all right with it, ready to go."

"Still, it's always hard to know a friend is ill." She kissed his temple and tightened her hold around his chest.

"He sent me this book," Sully went on. "Tom Sawyer. Not much use to him, he said. Told me I could read it to the kids or something."

"They'd love that," Michaela replied. "It was the perfect thing to give you."

"Jack did a lot for me," he went on unsteadily. "He risked everything to help me. Michaela, I don't wanna ever forget him."

"We won't," she said reassuringly. She circled around in front of him. "Would you like me to make you some tea, or coffee?"

"That's all right. It's gettin' late."

Sully stood from the chair and strolled over to the fireplace, setting the book on the mantel and squatting to add a log to the dying fire. Michaela lingered back, watching him.

After a moment he rose back to his full height and turned to face her, surprised to see her still standing there. "Somethin' wrong?" he whispered, brow narrowed, the firelight casting flickering shadows across his skin.

Michaela gazed into his eyes for several seconds, unspeaking, then slowly raised her hand, holding it out to him.

Sully hesitated, not certain he was reading her expression right. Despite their renewed closeness, their nighttime routine had been the same-they still went their separate ways to meet again in the morning. He gazed at her questioningly. Seconds later, she gave a nearly imperceptible nod in response.

Sully sighed, relieved, and walked across the room to her. He watched her face, her eyes blinking slowly, timidly, her skin aglow and her lips flushed. Then he lowered his eyes to her hand. Gradually he brought both his hands to it and squeezed it lovingly, raising his eyes back to hers.

Michaela put her free arm around his waist with a soft smile as they crossed the dining room for the stairs. They had shared so much in just the few days since they had returned from Chicago. All she could think was how much she loved him and how beautiful it was to have finally told him that and meant it. Not just in the heat of a passionate kiss, but while they were together talking, sharing their thoughts and feelings with each other, and finally beginning to heal. She felt an overwhelming sense of calm wash over her, coupled with a passionate need to show him how deep her love was for him. At last, she knew she was ready.

Sully brought his arm around her back as they ascended the stairs. He wanted with all his heart simply to lie beside Michaela again and to feel her hand in his as they slept, but had been afraid to push too much when they had already come so far. Now he was sure that the right moment had come for both of them. He reached for the doorknob to their bedroom, turning it and backing into the room, clasping Michaela's hands. He nudged the door closed with the toe of his boot, then turned his attention back to his wife.

They stood silently for a moment, taking each other in. Sully began stroking her cheek, timidly unsure of himself. Gradually, the simple touch of his fingers to her cheek aroused their senses, bringing back fond memories of everything they had shared before.

Sully brought his hand down to her neck, leaned forward and lightly planted a kiss on her lips. "I want it to be special," he whispered.

She drew her arms up to caress his chest. "Me, too." She hesitated, biting her lip. "Nervous?"

He ran his thumb across her lips, then gave her another small kiss, nodding ever so slightly.

Slowly, she unfastened the button at his shirt color, then looked up wryly, recalling words he had once said to her. "I'm glad I'm not the only one."

Reassured, he stood quietly, eyes on her as she unbuttoned his shirt to the bottom and slipped it over his shoulders, pulling it down his arms and letting it drop to the floor. She slid her fingers up his broad ribcage to his breast, leaving her hands to rest there as she reacquainted herself with the smoothness of his chest and the comforting heat that it gave. Sully nudged closer to touch his lips to her neck as he enfolded her waist with his arms and unfastened her skirt, letting it fall and then moving back to give her room to step out of it. He untied her pantaloons and stooped to his knees to pull down her stockings, caressing her thighs as she gave a soft sigh.

Sully looked up, searching her face for any sign of discontent, relieved to see her eyes still on his, lips parted slightly with yearning. A shy fluttering of her hand as she buried it in his hair and caressed his scalp gave him signal to go on. Gently, he kissed the tip of one knee, and then began a trail of kisses up her thigh to her hip, pushing up her blouse to kiss the curve of her waist. Her breath quickening, Michaela took his hands and guided them up to her buttons.

Sully rose to his feet, smiling softly, and removed her blouse, tossing it aside. At last he grasped the ends of her camisole and slowly pulled it over her head. He paused, taking her all in, overwhelmed.

" ... Am I different than what you remembered?" Michaela asked.

He ran his hands down her shoulders to her breasts, filling his fingers as he marveled at the softness of her skin, how wonderful she felt. "Yeah," he replied, leaning in for another kiss. " ... Even more beautiful."

He brought her hands to the waistband of his buckskins, meeting her eyes as he slowly drew in his breath. Michaela rose to her toes to convene her lips with his as she unbuttoned the waistband and slid the buckskins down his thighs. Then she backed toward the bed, arms wrapped around his neck. Together they fell to the mattress with a soft laugh and laid on their sides, facing each other, arms intertwined.

"Even more beautiful," Sully repeated in a whisper, running his hand down her back as she smoothed his hair.

"I thought about you so much, Sully," Michaela said passionately. "Us."

"I thought about us, too," he replied. "This is all I dreamed of. Just to hold ya like this ... to have this again."

"We're going to have this and everything again," she said, kissing the corner of his lips as he reached behind her to dim the lamp on the nightstand.

He shifted her against his chest as he returned the kiss, deepening it and lengthening it. Their hands caressed and explored each other, rekindling their love slowly and thoroughly, savoring every minute of the process.

At last they paused, breath coming quick, bodies fully awakened. Simultaneously they leaned in for one more soft kiss. Michaela threaded her fingers with his, squeezed lovingly, and turned to lie on her back, swallowing as she glanced at him, their shared timidity ever present.

He smoothed a stray hair from her brow, kissed her cheek with all the tenderness he had, and shifted to assume positioning that had once been so familiar to them. He propped himself up on his elbows and gently brushed his nose with hers. She brought her hand up around his shoulders and bent her knees, nodding softly in answer and approval to the trace of questioning across his brow.

Sully tightened his hold on her hand as Michaela sighed with pleasure, her back arching and a faint cry escaping her lips.

Sully pressed his lips to her ear and laid still. " ... I'm hurtin' ya?" he whispered anxiously.

She caressed his hair lovingly. "No," she whispered back. "No. The only thing that hurts is how much I've longed for you."

He gazed at her for a long moment, then kissed her adoringly. "I love ya so much, Michaela."

She drew him even closer as she settled into his deep, drawn-out rhythm. " ... And I love you."

& & &

Michaela traced her fingers lightly across Sully's cheek, then up to his brow, smoothing back his hair. She was propped up on one elbow, gazing at him, pausing every so often to kiss his chin, lips, or the tip of his nose. He looked back, blinking slowly, his fingers intertwined with hers.

" ... Sully," she whispered.

"... Hm?" he replied breathlessly.

"Nothing." She reached her hand up to cup the back of his neck and brought her lips to his. "I just missed ... us."

He smiled in answer and tightened his hold on her hand.

"We're amazing, aren't we?" she said, snuggling against his chest and resting her head beneath his neck.

He nodded, kissing her hair and sighing. He always remembered making love with Michaela as wonderful, but he had forgotten just how wonderful. He was sure there was nothing as beautiful as her eyes locked with his, the feel of her hands tight around his shoulders, drawing him even closer, the taste of her lips caressing his, or the sound of her voice, letting him know with sweet, passionate cries how wonderful it was for her too. Everything about loving her again had been remarkable. She had left him weak, speechless and completely fulfilled.

Michaela caressed his chest with her fingers. "There's no place I'd rather be right now than here with you. " She lay silent for a moment, waiting for him to reply. "You're awfully quiet." She raised her head to look up at him again and lovingly kissed his cheek. "Sully? Is something wrong? Tell me." She paused, swallowing apprehensively. "Wasn't it-?"

"No, it ain't that," he immediately replied. He buried his fingers in her hair. "Everything was so perfect ... it's just ..."

"Tell me," she pleaded gently.

"I don't know," he murmured. "I guess, I never thought we'd have this again. When I first heard you'd married I ... "

Michaela caressed his shoulder. "Shh, I know. I'm sorry I put you through that. I'd given up hope I'd ever see you again. I'm so sorry. Telling you about Cal was the hardest thing I'd ever had to do."

"I know." He tightened his hold around her back, at last feeling secure to open up to her about what had been on his mind for weeks. "Brian said ... he told me you and Cal, ya ... ya wanted a baby."

She looked up at him reluctantly. " ... Cal did."

"What about you?" he gently pressed.

"I-I told myself I owed it to him. He had helped me through so much, and I thought perhaps having a child with him would somehow help me move on with my life, bring some sort of closure to everything. I thought it could be my gift to him, that he deserved that ... but my heart was never in it. Deep down, I was terrified of taking such a step. The part of me that believed wouldn't let me go through with it." She snuggled closer to him. "The only man I've ever truly wanted to have a baby with is you, Sully."

He smiled softly, caressing her back. "Michaela." He shook his head regretfully. "I missed so much with our kids. At least I got to spend a little time with Katie before this all happened. But I never got to hold Byron when he was little, see him start crawlin', walkin', sayin' his first words. I'd give anything to have been there. We'll never have that again."

She drew in her breath, quiet with her thoughts for a long moment. At last she squeezed his hand. " ... Perhaps we could."

His eyebrows raised in surprise. "What do ya mean?"

She hesitated. "I don't know. Just that ... Byron and Katie can be a handful and sometimes I think I can't hardly keep up, but they're getting older now and ... and all three of them could help out."

He swallowed. "We've been so blessed already. I can't imagine ... "

She nodded shyly. "I know it's soon ... of course we don't have to think about this right away let alone decide anything, but-"

He brought his finger up to her lips. "We got plenty of time to talk about it. But there's one thing I do know."

She smiled timidly. "What?"

"You're the only woman I've ever wanted to be our children's mama," he whispered, softly pressing his lips to hers. "The only woman I ever wanted to come home to."

"Welcome home, Sully," she whispered tenderly.

& & &

Sully sunk into the bench outside the clinic door, nervously rubbing his thighs with his hands. A chilly fall breeze swept up onto the porch, though he was too focused on the door to notice. He stood up again and paced a few steps down the porch, impatiently crossing and uncrossing his arms. Absently, he glanced across the meadow at the schoolhouse. The children were at recess, bundled in coats and hats and engaged in a game of baseball. He thought he could make out Brian helping some of the younger schoolchildren learn how to swing a bat.

Sully watched proudly, distracted for only a moment before his attention was back on the closed door. "What's takin' so long?" he muttered to himself, letting out a sigh. He scratched his sprouting whiskers, telling himself not to worry. Michaela, though she was little under the weather lately, quiet and at times a bit tearful, was healthy nonetheless. Good news or not, he knew that was what was most important.

Finally, he heard footsteps approaching the door. He immediately straightened, grasping the doorframe with one hand, his breath quickening. At last Michaela appeared, a tender but disappointingly unreadable smile on her face.

Sully backed up a step, glancing at Andrew who was still inside, removing a sheet draped over the examination table. He too gave nothing away.

Michaela closed the door after her and reached out to grasp Sully's hands.

He held her gaze, fearing her expression would break at any moment. "I've been thinkin'," he began uneasily, "I've been thinkin' it don't matter if we don't ... Michaela, all that matters is you're all right-"

"Sully," she interrupted, standing on tiptoe to give him a soft kiss.

" ...What?" he replied hoarsely.

"Yes," she said simply.

He blinked a few times, perplexed.

Her smile widened and she drew him into her embrace, holding on tight. "Yes, Papa," she murmured passionately.

Sully chuckled, pressing his cheek to her hair and rocking her. "Michaela," he whispered, voice full with emotion. "Oh, Michaela. I knew it. I knew it had to be this. Is everythin'-"

"Everything's fine," she said, pressing her lips to his ear. "Everything's just fine."

"You sure?" he asked worriedly.

"Positive," she said. "Even Andrew says so."

He slowly pulled back and cupped her cheeks in his hands. "So we're really gonna do this."

She chuckled, her face glowing with exhilaration. "I hope so because I don't think we have much of a choice now."

He smoothed back her hair and kissed her brow. "I'm gonna always remember how ya look right now."

"Happy?" she murmured, sighing softly.

"And ... so beautiful," he replied.

She wrapped her arm around his waist, her smile fading slightly. "Andrew wants to talk with us. He wants to see me every two weeks, Sully."

"Good," he said, rubbing her back.

She grimaced. "But so often? Surely that can't be necessary. For heaven's sake I'm a doctor myself-"

"So stop bein' the doctor for just this once," Sully said. "If Andrew needs to see ya every day even then that's what we'll do."

She sighed. "I suppose. I suppose it just seems like a lot of work, don't you think?"

"I'm up to it," he replied decisively. "If you are."

She grinned, reaching for the doorknob. " ... All right. If you are I am, too."

Epilogue  
April 1877

"Mama, I'm hungry," Byron said, impatiently clutching his spoon as he sat on his knees in one of the kitchen table chairs.

"Me, too," Katie put in, a slight frown forming across her lips as she climbed into the chair beside Byron.

"Just a minute," Michaela murmured in reply. She heaped a pile of scrambled eggs onto a plate and spooned some potatoes and a few strips of bacon beside it.

Brian poured milk into each of the five glasses at the table. "Ma, you think we could go fishin' today? The weather's real nice."

"I suppose," she replied.

"We're hungry, Mama," Byron said again.

"All right, Byron," Michaela replied a bit more testily. "I'm almost done."

Katie spun around in her chair as she heard footsteps on the porch. A moment later Sully came in from the barn, hanging his coat on the rack.

"Papa!" Katie called.

"Mornin'," he called back, walking over to them and giving each of the younger children a kiss and Brian a pat on the back before he joined Michaela at the stove.

"Ya sure got a lot of bacon cookin'," he remarked, caressing the small of her back as he glanced at the eighteen or so strips of bacon in the pan.

"Would you like me to put some back?" she asked, lips slightly pursed.

He eyed her hesitantly. "... Naw, it smells good. And I can do this," he added more quietly. "You didn't have to be up so early."

"They were dressed and ready for breakfast, Sully," she said as she dished up another plate. "They couldn't wait any longer."

"Here, let me," he said, taking the plate from her and placing it in front of Katie. "Sit down and have something to eat."

She shook her head. "I'm not hungry."

"You're not hungry?" he repeated in surprise. " ... Somethin' wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," she replied edgily.

He backed off a step, mindful of the up and down emotions Michaela had generously displayed throughout the past several months. He had learned to tread lightly around her when she was particularly ill humored, but he also knew how easily a loving, understanding kiss or hug could help bring her back down. He drew closer again and pressed his lips to her cheek. "It's all right if ya don't feel like eatin' right now," he whispered, "but at least sit down and have some tea or somethin'."

A sudden crash startled them both, and they quickly turned to meet the guilty faces of Katie and Byron.

"Uh-oh," Katie said quietly, glancing at the floor where her glass had broken and milk had splattered beneath the table. Wolf immediately trotted over from her bed of blankets beneath the coat rack and began lapping up the milk.

"Katie," Michaela groaned.

"He did it!" Katie said firmly, pointing at her younger brother.

Byron raised his eyebrows in disbelief. "Did not!"

Brian quickly rose from his chair and picked up a towel. "Ya both did it. You were pokin' at each other and not payin' attention."

Brow fixed, Michaela grabbed a cloth from the counter and stepped forward to help. Sully caught her by the arm and took the cloth from her. "We'll take care of it."

"Sully-" Michaela protested.

He reached his hands behind her to untie her apron and slipped it from her shoulders. "We'll manage to get the floor good as new without ya."

She reluctantly obeyed, making her way into the sitting room and sinking into one of the wingback chairs in front of the fire with a tired sigh. No more than a few minutes later Sully returned to her side, wiping his hands with a towel, the children right behind him.

"We got all the milk off the floor," Byron said matter-of-factly, reaching out to take his mother's hand.

"We're sorry we knocked it over, Mama," Katie added more quietly. " ... We have some pennies to buy a new glass."

Michaela caressed her hair, touched. "Oh, that's all right. We have plenty of glasses. Thank you for cleaning it up." She chuckled despite herself. "I can always count on you two to make things interesting, hm?"

"That's for sure," Brian spoke up, tickling his younger siblings good-naturedly.

"Guess what? Papa's taking us fishing," Katie said, beaming up at her father.

"You come fish, too, Mama," Byron urged, tugging on her dress sleeve.

"That sounds nice but ... I think I'll stay here," Michaela replied. "Bring us back some supper though, all right?"

"We will!" Byron said as the children bustled to the door and gathered their jackets and boots.

Sully lingered back with Michaela, stooping to her level. "Sure ya don't wanna come along? It's the first nice day since the snows melted. Michaela, if ya want me to stay here with ya-"

"I'll be fine," she insisted. "They've been cooped up all winter. Take them outside where they can get rid of some of their energy. Besides I could use the quiet to catch up on some rest."

He leaned forward and gave her a sweet kiss. "That's a good idea."

"Sully," she whispered as they broke apart. " ... Thank you."

He took his free hand and caressed her swollen belly beneath her skirt. "Three more weeks. We can do it," he said reassuringly.

She smiled ever so softly and brought her hand up over his. "Are you excited?" she whispered.

He returned the smile, stroking her cheek with his thumb. "I can't wait. And ... I think I ain't ever been happier than right now."

"I've been thinking the same thing," she murmured lovingly.

& & &

"Papa! Come look!" Byron called, motioning with one muddy hand.

Sully rose from his seat on a log beside Brian and Katie and joined the little boy at the edge of the creek. He was crouched beside a puddle of mud, his shirt sleeves soiled up to the elbows. With a wide grin, he held up a small mud figurine he had molded and shaped with his hands. "Look what I made," he said proudly.

"That's great, son." Sully rubbed his back encouragingly. "Uh ... what is it?"

"A bunny rabbit," Byron replied, patting the figure's head.

"You thinkin' of takin' this home to your ma?" Sully teased, gently tousling his hair.

Byron giggled, carefully setting the mud figurine on the ground. "He's gotta stay here I guess."

"Yeah, I think that'd be good," Sully replied. "Hey, what do you say you help me carve a rabbit from some wood. You could sand it all on your own. Then you can keep it."

Byron thought a moment, pressing his muddy hands together. "Maybe then that can be my present for the baby."

Sully smoothed back his hair, surprised. "Yeah. I like that idea. I think the baby would love somethin' like that. From you, the big brother."

"From me," Byron said, eyes lighting up as he hugged his father's arm with his hands.

"Pa! I got one!" Brian shouted, holding up his line where a trout a foot long twisted and writhed, shooting drops of water onto the boy's arm.

Sully stood up and walked over. "Looks great."

"Sure does," Brian said as he removed the hook from the trout and dropped the fish in a nearby bucket.

Sully patted his back. "Nice work, Brian."

He beamed, baiting his hook with another worm. "Thanks."

Katie stood up, placing her fishing pole beside her, and peered into the bucket. "I never catch anything," she said softly, heaving a sigh.

"You will, Katie," Brian spoke up helpfully. "Ya just gotta be patient."

Sully rubbed her back. "Maybe ya just need to find your sweet spot. This one's Brian's. That's probably why ya haven't gotten anythin' yet."

"Sweet spot?" Katie questioned, looking up curiously.

He caressed her head. "Yeah. The best place for you to catch fish. Your good luck spot. I think you should try over there by that cherry tree, what do you think?" He nodded down the bank a few hundred yards.

Katie followed his gaze, swallowing. Finally, she met his eyes again. "Will you come with me, Papa?"

He took her hand. " ... Sure. Sure I will. We'll fish together, how's that?"

She grinned, squeezing his hand. "Good. I think you can be my good luck."

Sully wrapped his arm around her, smiling. "And you can be mine, Kates."

& & &

Sully carefully sat beside his wife on their bed, gazing at her blissfully. He wrapped his arm around her back as she raised her head and looked up at him with an expression of utter exhilaration. Her smile was, though sincere, physically weak, and her eyes betrayed the exhaustion pressing down on her, but he couldn't remember ever seeing her so happy. He had never been more proud of her, or more in love.

He looked down at the tiny bundle in her arms, smoothing back from its face the thick, warm beige blanket he had so tenderly swaddled it in less than an hour before. He watched in awe as their newborn opened and closed its wide, deep blue eyes, squinting at the dwindling afternoon light pouring through the windows. A thin, fluffy patch of damp blonde hair peaked out from beneath the blanket. Further down was a wrinkled, inquisitive little brow, followed by an adorable smudge of a nose, round nostrils flexing, then healthy, rosy cheeks and lips, and a dimpled little chin.

Michaela shifted and gently passed the baby to Sully, settling it in his arms encouragingly.

"Don't know if I remember how to do this," he said, tentatively cradling the baby against his chest.

"You're doing everything just right," Michaela said, caressing his arm.

Slowly growing more at ease, Sully gave the sleepy infant a loving kiss on the head and took one of its tiny hands in his, pressing his thumb to the miniature fingers.

"What do you think?" Michaela whispered, her smile broadening.

"... Just like a little angel," Sully whispered back, eyes moist with tears.

"Mmm," she replied in agreement, looking on lovingly as Sully cuddled with the new child, pausing every few seconds to meet his wife's eyes and share an adoring glance.

"Sully, look at these feet," she spoke up, running her fingers across five pink little toes emerging from beneath the blanket. "I recognize them."

"Me, too," Sully said, chuckling softly. "Hey," he spoke gently, drawing the baby even closer. "Hey. I'm your ... I'm your pa." He shook his head once more, unable to believe their child was here and in his arms, gazing up at him. "I s'pose ya look like me, don't ya?"

"Oh, just like you," Michaela affirmed. "Just like Papa."

"A little like Mama, too," Sully added.

Michaela had told Sully time and again how Byron had been born in a matter of hours, had warned him things might go even faster this time around, but he had not anticipated such a quick delivery that all plans of traveling to the comforts of the clinic would again be spoiled.

Sully thought he had detected something amiss with Michaela that morning. She had seemed a little out of sorts, unusually tired, irritable, not in the mood for talk. He had returned from fishing that afternoon, two large trout in tow, only to find Michaela balled up on her side in bed. She had discarded in a heap skirts, pantaloons and stockings, in favor of a simple sleeveless nightgown. The blankets were pushed back firmly to the end of the bed in disgust, but she still looked hot and uncomfortable. She had glanced up at him with raised eyebrows and given him such a wry smile Sully might have laughed if he hadn't been so busy panicking.

Now not half an hour later he was looking down, speechless, at the new child in his arms.

Sully had often wondered, in the months leading up to the child's birth, how his already bursting heart would have room for this new baby. The moment he had lifted it from the sheets, however, placed it up on Michaela's chest and watched as she met their baby's eyes for the first time, his heart grew two-fold, filling his being with more love than he ever thought possible.

The infant had given one vigorous, healthy cry, then immediately calmed, content as ever in Michaela's embrace. For several minutes Michaela and Sully simply held and kissed the new baby, neither thinking to see if they had a boy or a girl, neither of them caring. Sully couldn't believe how perfect things had gone, how uneventful it had all been, how amazing his wife had been through it all. Just feeling the baby in his arms, Michaela beside him, was all he had dared dream of and more.

Carefully, Sully handed the baby back to her, securing the blanket with a blissful sigh. He glanced at Michaela, surprised by the tears in her eyes. He drew closer, cupping her cheek in his hand. "You all right?"

She closed her eyes and nodded, the tears spilling from her eyes and down her cheeks.

Sully pressed his brow to hers, cupping the back of her neck with his hand and holding her close. "Our baby's perfect, Michaela," he whispered after a moment, kissing her temple. "You're both perfect."

"Everything's just so ... overwhelming," she admitted softly. "I just can't believe this."

"I keep waitin' to wake up," he added, tracing her cheek with his finger.

"Me, too," she said hoarsely.

"Look down, Michaela," he replied. "It ain't a dream anymore."

She opened her eyes and watched as the infant let loose a few small cries, as if to reassure its parents everything was indeed real.

Sully kissed her cheek and caressed her hand with his. "I love you," he whispered tenderly.

"Oh, I love you so much," she replied, squeezing his hand tight and gently kissing his lips. " ... Sully? Could you bring the children in. Please?"

He eyed her hesitantly. "You sure you're up to it?"

She nodded, running her fingers down the baby's soft cheek. "I want them to see this new member of our family. And me."

Sully carefully rose from the bed. "I'll be right back." He quickly padded down the stairs to where Brian, Katie and Byron were waiting impatiently at the base.

"Papa!" Byron cried.

"How's Ma?" Brian immediately asked, his arms wrapped anxiously around his younger siblings.

Sully caressed his shoulder. "Doin' great. She and the baby are just fine, son."

Brian let out a sigh and then grinned. "They're just fine," he echoed, relieved.

"We picked some flowers," Katie put in.

Byron held out the bouquet of daisies. "Can ya give 'em to Mama for us?"

Sully picked him up and took Katie's hand. "Ya can give 'em to her yourself. Come on. She wants to see ya. All of ya."

"Is the baby nice, Papa?" Byron asked curiously, fingering the beads around his father's neck.

"The baby's real nice," Sully said with a soft chuckle. He ascended the last step and opened the door. "Michaela? Got some visitors," he said softly.

Shyly, Brian and Katie took a few hesitant steps into the room, mouths slightly agape.

Michaela instantly smiled and held out her hand to the children. "Come see," she beckoned. She shifted the baby up so they could get a good look at its tiny face.

Byron drew in his breath in an emotive gasp and Katie stepped even closer and stood on tiptoes to see.

"... Oh, Ma," Brian murmured at last. He drew closer and tentatively touched his new sibling's cheek. "Look how little. I forgot how little they are."

"I think we'd all forgotten," Michaela replied.

Sully put Byron on his feet and gave his back a gentle, approving nudge. "Go on, son. It's all right."

Byron stepped forward, scrutinizing the baby vigilantly. "It's got no hair!" he said accusingly, pressing his hands against the mattress.

"Just a little bit," Sully explained. He caressed Katie's shoulder. "Like you were, Kates."

"What is it, Ma?" Brian asked excitedly. "Boy or girl?"

Michaela glanced at Sully. "You tell them," she said lovingly.

He smiled in return and reached out to stroke his new son's hand as the baby yawned drowsily. "A boy. Ya have a baby brother."

" ... Another brother?" Katie said, an air of disappointment in her voice.

Sully drew the little girl to his side. "Look, Katie. He's lookin' right at ya."

She hesitated, studying her new sibling. "He is," she said finally. "He's looking at me, Papa."

"Sure is. I think he really wants you for his big sister," Sully said. "What do ya think? Think you're up to the job?"

She nodded proudly. "Yeah. I'll take good care of him."

"We're gonna teach ya so much," Brian spoke in a soft tone. "Me and Katie and B." He paused, glancing at each of his parents. "What's his name?"

Michaela kissed the baby's brow affectionately. "Jack. This is Jack."

"Like Jack and Jill?" Byron spoke up curiously.

Michaela smiled and grasped Sully's arm. "That's right. And like Jack from New Mexico. Papa's friend from prison."

Sully smoothed back the baby's soft hair. "Jack was real good to me when I was in there. It's cause of his help that I'm home now. Even though he's gone, we don't want to forget what he did for all of us. Brought us all back together. We want this baby to be his namesake."

"Jack," Brian said experimentally. "I like it."

"I like it, too," Katie spoke up

"Me, too," Byron added. He looked up at his mother, holding out the bouquet of wildflowers. "We picked these," he said.

"Did you? Oh, sweetheart. Thank you," Michaela murmured as Sully took the bundle and placed them in the pitcher on the nightstand.

Katie stepped closer to the bed and eyed her littlest brother hopefully as he raised one arm from the blankets, stretching his fingers. "Mama? Can we hold Jack?"

"I can, too?" Byron added eagerly.

"Of course you may," Michaela immediately replied. "All of you may."

"Here, sit up by your ma," Sully said, giving Byron and Katie a hand onto the bed. "Careful now." He settled them beside Michaela, then helped her lay the baby in their waiting arms.

"Be real gentle," Brian said helpfully as he kneeled beside the bed and looked on.

"Here, Katie," Sully said as he guided her hand to support the baby's neck. "Put your hand under his head like this. There ya go."

"I'm holding Jack's legs, Papa," Byron said as he tenderly cupped his little brother's lower torso in his arms.

"You're doin' great," Sully said, chuckling as the baby gurgled and cooed in his older siblings arms. "Jack loves this."

"He's pretty," Katie breathed.

"He's pretty!" Byron echoed with a giggle. He tentatively pressed his finger to the baby boy's chest. "Hey. I'm Byron. I'm a big brother now." He leaned forward and gave Jack a gentle kiss on his soft, flushed cheek. "I think maybe when you stop being so little, maybe I can teach ya marbles just like Cal taught me-" Byron held his breath, immediately realizing he had said the wrong thing. Talking about Cal used to make his father so uncomfortable and sometimes even upset. Reluctantly, he looked up at Sully, biting his lip.

Much to his surprise, Sully smiled softly back at him and reached out to caress his hair. "I think that's a great idea, Byron," he whispered earnestly.

Michaela caught Sully's eyes and held his gaze for a long, tender moment. "Me, too," she added.

" ... What do you say, kids?" Sully asked, putting his arm around Brian. "Ya gonna like havin' a little brother around?"

"It's gonna be fun," Brian said with a smile.

"I'm gonna like it," Katie said.

"I'm gonna like it. He's soft," Byron said decisively. He looked up at his mother approvingly. "Mama ... you did good."

Michaela smiled. "I'm glad you think so." She caressed Katie's hair. "You're both holding the baby so well. I'm so proud of you."

"I think that's 'cause Jack likes us, Mama," Katie said.

"I think he does, too." Michaela gently kissed the baby's head. "We're so happy to have you in our family, Jack."

Sully grasped her hand, eyes filled with tears. " ... Our family."

**The End**

**Thank you for your support and comments, and thank you for stickign with my most controversial but popular story. You've been great! Please check out my other stories, Westward Bound, First Do No Harm, The Least of These, and Where One Path Ends.**


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